THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


A   RAW  YOUTH 


THE  NOVELS  OF  FYODOR  DOSTOEVSKY 

Translated  from  the  Russian  by  CONSTANCE 
GARNETT,  Crown  8vo, 

THE  BROTHERS  KARAMAZOV 

THE  IDIOT 

THE    POSSESSED 

CRIME    AND    PUNISHMENT 

THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    DEAD 

THE    INSULTED    AND    INJURED 

A    RAW    YOUTH 

THE    ETERNAL    HUSBAND 

THE    GAMBLER    AND    OTHER    STORIES 

WHITE   NIGHTS 

.AN    HONEST    THIEF 

THE    FRIEND   OF    THE    FAMILY 


FYODOR  DOSTOEVSKY 


YOUTH 


Translated  from 

the  Kussiau  by 

CONSTANCE  GARNETT 


NEW  YORK 

THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANfY 

1950 


William  Heinemann  Ltd 

LONDON   MELBOURNE   TORONTO 
JOHANNESBURG   AUCKLAND 


First  published  1916 

Reprinted  1923,  1950,  1956,  1964,  1970 

434  20401  2 


Reproduced  and  Printed  by 
Redwood  Press  Limited 
Trowbridge  &  London 


о 


ч 


^ 


У& 


3326 
PART    I  r]/G 


CHAPTER  I 


I  CANNOT  resist  sitting  down  to  write  the  history  of  the  first  steps 
in  my  career,  though  I  might  very  well  abstain  from  doing  so.  ... 
I  know  one  thing  for  certain  :  I  shall  never  again  sit  down  to 
write  my  autobiography  even  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred.     One 

"^  must  be  too  disgustingly  in  love  with  .self  to  be  able  without 
shame  to  write  about  oneself.  I  can  only  excuse  myself  on 
the  ground  that  I  am  not  writing  with  the  same  object  with 

^  which  other  people  write,  that  is,  to  win  the  praise  of  my  readers. 
^  It  has  suddenly  occurred  to  me  to  write  out  word  for  word  all 
V-  that  has  happened  to  me  during  this  last  year,  simply  from  an 
^    inward  impulse,   because  I  am  so  impressed  by  all  that  has 

•^  happened.  I  shall  simply  record  the  incidents,  doing  my  utmost 
to  exclude  everything  extraneous,  especially  all  literary  graces. 
The  professional  writer  writes  for  thirty  years,  and  is  quite 
unable  to  say  at  the  end  why  he  has  been  writing  for  all  that 
time.  I  am  not  a  professional  writer  and  don't  want  to  be, 
and  to  drag  forth  into  the  literary  market-place  the  inmost 
secrets  of  my  soul  and  an  artistic  description  of  my  feelings 
I  should  regard  as  indecent  and  contemptible.  I  foresee,  how- 
ever, with  vexation,  that  it  will  be  impossible  to  avoid  describing 
feelings  altogether  and  making  reflections  (even,  perhaps,  cheap 
ones),  so  corrupting  is  every  sort  of  literary  pursuit  in  its  effect, 
even  if  it  be  undertaken  only  for  one's  own  satisfaction.  The 
reflections  may  indeed  be  very  cheap,  because  what  is  of  value 
for  oneself  may  very  well  have  no  value  for  others.  But  all 
this  is  beside  the  mark.  It  will  do  for  a  preface,  however. 
There  will  be  nothing  more  of  the  sort.  Let  us  get  to  work, 
though  there  is  nothing  more  difficult  than  to  begin  upon  some 
sorts  of  work — perhaps  any  sort  of  work. 


1773186 


I  am  beginning — or  rather,  I  should  like  to  begin — these  notes 
from  the  19th  of  September  of  last  year,  that  is,  from  the  very 
day  I  first  met  .  .  . 

But  to  explain  so  prematurely  who  it  was  I  met  before  any- 
thing else  is  known  would  be  cheap  ;  in  fact,  I  believe  my  tone 
is  cheap.  I  vowed  I  would  eschew  all  literary  graces,  and  here 
at  the  first  sentence  I  am  being  seduced  by  them.  It  seems  as 
if  writing  sensibly  can't  be  done  simply  by  wanting  to.  I 
may  remark,  also,  that  I  fancy  writing  is  more  difficult  in  Russian 
than  in  any  other  European  language.  I  am  now  reading  over 
what  I  have  just  written,  and  I  see  that  I  am  much  cleverer 
than  what  I  have  written.  How  is  it  that  what  is  expressed 
by  a  clever  man  is  much  more  stupid  than  what  is  left  in  him  ? 
I  have  more  than  once  during  this  momentous  year  noticed 
this  with  myself  in  my  relations  with  people,  and  have  been 
very  much  worried  by  it. 

Although  I  am  beginning  from  the  19th  of  September,  I  must 
put  in  a  word  or  two  about  who  I  am  and  where  I  had  been  till 
then,  and  what  was  consequently  my  state  of  mind  on  the 
morning  of  that  day,  to  make  things  clearer  to  the  reader,  and 
perhaps  to  myself  also. 


I  have  passed  the  leaving  examination  at  the  grammar  school, 
and  now  I  am  in  my  twenty-first  year.  My  surname  is  Dol- 
goruky,  and  my  legal  father  is  Makar  Ivanov  Dolgoruky,  formerly 
a  serf  in  the  household  of  the  Versilovs.  In  this  way  I  am  a 
legitimate  son,  although  I  am,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  conspicu- 
ously illegitimate,  and  there  is  not  the  faintest  doubt  about 
my  origin. 

The  facts  are  as  follows.  Twenty-two  years  ago  Versilov 
(that  is  my  father),  being  twenty-five  years  old,  visited  his 
estate  in  the  province  of  Tula.  I  imagine  that  at  that  time  his 
character  was  still  quite  unformed.  It  is  curious  that  this  man 
who,  even  in  my  childhood,  made  such  an  impression  upon  me, 
who  had  such  a  crucial  influence  on  the  whole  bent  of  my  mind, 
and  who  perhaps  has  even  cast  his  shadow  over  the  whole  of 
my  future,  still  remains,  even  now,  a  complete  enigma  to  me 
in  many  respects.     Of  this,  more  particulars  later.    There  is 

2 


no  describing  him  straight  ofiF.     My  whole  manuscript  will  be 
full  of  this  man,  anyway. 

He  had  just  been  left  a  widower  at  that  time,  that  is,  when 
he  was  twenty- five.  He  had  married  one  of  the  Fanariotovs — 
a  girl  of  high  rank  but  without  much  money — and  by  her  he  had 
a  son  and  a  daughter.  The  facts  that  I  have  gathered  about 
this  wife  whom  he  lost  so  early  are  somewhat  scanty,  and  are 
lost  among  my  materials,  and,  indeed,  many  of  the  circumstances 
of  VersUov's  private  life  have  eluded  me,  for  he  has  always 
been  so  proud,  disdainful,  reserved  and  casual  with  me,  in  spite 
of  a  sort  of  meekness  towards  me  which  was  striking  at  times.  I 
will  mention,  however,  to  make  things  clear  beforehand,  that 
he  ran  through  three  fortunes  in  his  lifetime,  and  very  big  ones 
too,  of  over  fourteen  hundred  souls,  and  maybe  more.  Now,  of 
course,  he  has  not  a  farthing. 

He  went  to  the  viHage  on  that  occasion,  "  God  knows  why," 
so  at  least  he  said  to  me  afterwards.  His  young  children  were, 
as  usual,  not  with  him  but  with  relations.  This  was  always  bis 
method  with  his  children,  legitimate  and  illegitimate  ^.like.  The 
house-serfs  on  this  estate  were  rather  numerous,  and  among  them 
was  a  gardener  called  Makar  Ivanov  Dolgoruky.  Here  I  will 
note  in  parenthesis,  to  relieve  my  mind  once  and  for  all,  I  doubt 
whether  anyone  can  ever  have  raged  against  his  surname  as 
I  have  all  my  life ;  this  is  stupid,  of  course,  but  so  it  has  been. 
Every  time  I  entered  a  school  or  met  persons  whom  I  had 
to  treat  with  respect  as  my  elders,  every  wretched  little 
teacher,  tutor,  priest — anyone  you  Ике — on  asking  my  name 
and  hearing  it  was  Dolgoruky,  for  some  reason  invariably 
thought  fitting  to  add,  "  Prince  Dolgoruky  ?  "  And  every  single 
time  I  was  forced  to  explain  to  these  futile  people,  "  No,  simply 
Dolgoruky." 

That  simply  began  to  drive  me  mad  at  last.  Here  I  note 
as  a  curious  phenomenon  that  I  don't  remember  a  single  excep- 
tion ;  every  one  asked  the  question.  For  some  it  was  apparently 
quite  superfluous,  and  indeed  I  don't  know  how  the  devil  it 
could  have  been  necessary  for  anyone.  But  all,  every  one  of 
them  asked  it.  On  hearing  that  I  was  simply  Dolgoruky,  the 
questioner  usually  looked  me  up  and  down  with  a  blank  and 
stupidly  apathetic  stare  that  betrayed  that  he  did  not  know 
why  he  had  asked  the  question.  Then  he  would  walk  away. 
My  comrades  and  schoolfellows  were  the  most  insulting  of  all. 
How  do  schoolboys  question  a  new-comer  ?     The   new   boy, 

3 


abashed  and  confused  on  the  first  day  of  entering  a  school 
(whatever  school  it  may  be),  is  the  victim  of  all  ;  they  order  him 
about,  they  tease  him,  and  treat  him  like  a  lackey.     A  stout, 
chubby  urchin  suddenly  stands  still  before  his  victim  and  watches 
him  persistently  for  some  moments  with  a  stem  and  haughty 
stare.     The  new  boy  stands  facing  him  in  silence,  looks  at  him 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  and,  if  he  is  not  a  coward,  waits  to 
see  what  is  going  to  happen. 
"  What's  your  name  ?  " 
"  Dolgoruky." 
'•  Prince  Dolgoruky  ?  " 
'■  No,  simply  Dolgoruky.'* 
"  Ah,  simply  !     Fool." 

And  he  was  right ;  nothing  could  be  more  foolish  than  to  be 
called  Dolgoruky  without  being  a  prince.  I  have  to  bear  the 
burden  of  that  foolishness  through  no  fault  of  my  own.  Later 
on,  when  I  began  to  get  very  cross  about  it,  I  always  answered 
the  question  "  Are  you  a  prmce  ?  "  by  saying,  "  No,  I'm  the  son 
of  a  servant,  formerly  a  serf." 

At  last,  when  I  was  roused  to  the  utm9St  pitch  of  fury,  I 
resolutely  answered  : 

"  No,  simply  Dolgoruky,  the  illegitimate  son  of  my  former 
owner." 

I  thought  of  this  when  I  was  in  the  sixth  form  of  the  grammar 
school,  and  though  I  was  very  soon  after  thoroughly  convinced 
that  I  wa.<^ stupid,  I  did  not  at  once  give  up  being  so.  I  remember 
that  one  of  the  teachers  opined — he  was  alone  in  his  opinion, 
however — that  I  was  "  filled  with  ideas  of  vengeance  and  civic 
rights."  As  a  rule  this  reply  was  received  with  a  sort  of  medita- 
tive pensiveness,  anything  but  flattering  to  me. 

At  last  one  of  my  schoolfellows,  a  very  sarcastic  boy,  to 
whom  I  hardly  talked  once  in  a  year,  said  to  me  with  a  serious 
countenance,  looking  a  little  away  : 

"  Such  sentiments  do  you  credit,  of  co\irse,  and  no  doubt 
you  have  something  to  be  proud  of  ;  but  if  I  were  in  your  р1аюе 
I  should  not  be  too  festive  over  being  illegitimate  .  .  .  you  seem 
to  expect  congratulations  !  " 

From  that  time  forth  I  dropped  boasting  of  being  illegitimate. 

I  repeat,  it  is  very  difficult  to  write  in  Russian  :   here  I  have 

covered  three  pages  with  describing  how  furious  I  have  been  all 

my  life  with  my  surname,  and  after  all  the  reader  will,  no  doubt, 

probably  have  deduced  that  I  was  really  furious  at  not  being  a 

4 


prince  but  simply  Dolgoruky.    To  explain  again  and  defend 
myself  would  be  humiliating. 


And  so  among  the  servants,  of  whom  there  were  a  great 
number  besides  Makar  Ivanitch,  there  was  a  maid,  and  she  was 
eighteen  when  Makar  Dolgoruky,  who  was  fifty,  suddenly 
announced  his  intention  of  marrying  her.  In  the  days  of  serfdom 
marriages  of  house-serfs,  as  every  one  knows,  only  took  place 
with  the  sanction  of  their  masters,  and  were  sometimes  simply 
arranged  by  the  latter.  At  that  time  "  auntie  "  was  living  on 
the  estate  ;  not  that  ьЬе  was  my  aunt,  though  :  she  had,  in  fact, 
an  estate  of  her  own  ;  but,  I  don't  know  why,  every  one  knew 
her  all  her  life  as  "  auntie  " — not  mine  in  particular  but  an 
aunt  in  general,  even  in  the  family  of  Versilov,  to  whom  she  can 
hardly  have  been  related.  Her  name  was  Tatyana  Pavlovna 
Prutkov.  In  those  days  she  still  had,  in  the  same  province  and 
district,  a  property  of  thirty-five  serfs  of  her  own.  She  didn't 
exactly  administer  Versilov's  estate  (of  five  hundred  serfs),  but, 
being  so  near  a  neighbour,  she  kept  a  vigilant  eye  on  it,  and 
her  superintendence,  so  I  have  heard,  was  as  efficient  as  that  of 
any  trained  steward.  However,  her  efficiency  is  nothing  to 
do  with  me.  But,  to  dispose  of  all  suspicion  of  cringing  or 
flattery  on  my  part,  I  should  like  to  add  that  this  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  was  a  generous  and  even  original  person. 

Well,  far  from  checking  the  gloomy  Makar  Dolgoruky's  matri- 
monial inclinations  (I  am  told  he  was  gloomy  in  those  days), 
she  gave  them  the  warmest  encouragement. 

Sofia  Andreyevna,  the  serf-girl  of  eighteen  (that  is,  my  mottier), 
had  been  for  some  years  fatherless  and  motherless.  Her  father, 
also  a  serf,  who  had  a  great  resj^ect  for  Makar  Dolgoruky  and 
was  under  some  obligation  to  him,  had  six  years  before,  on  his 
death-bed,  beckoned  to  the  old  gardener  and,  pointing  signifi- 
cantly to  his  daughter,  had,  in  the  presence  of  the  pri(ist  and  all 
the  servants,  bequeathed  her  to  him,  saying,  "  When  she's  grown 
up,  marry  her."  This  was,  so  they  say,  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
before  he  expired,  so  that  it  might,  if  need  be,  have  been  put 
down  to  delirium  ;  besides  which,  he  had  no  right  to  dispose  of 
property,  being  a  serf.  Every  one  heard  his  words.  As  for  Makar 
Ivanovitch,  I  don't  know  in  what  spirit  he  afterwards  entered 
upon  the  marriage,  whether  with  great  eagerness  or  simply  as 


the  fulfilment  of  a  duty.  Probably  he  preserved  an  appearance 
of  complete  indifference.  He  was  a  man  who  even  at  that 
time  knew  how  to  "  keep  up  his  dignity."  It  was  not  that  he 
was  a  particularly  well-educated  or  reading  man  (though  he 
knew  the  whole  of  the  church  service  and  some  lives  of  the  saints, 
but  this  was  only  from  hearing  them).  It  was  not  that  he  was  a 
sort  of  backstairs  philosopher  ;  it  was  simply  that  he  was  a  man 
of  obstinate,  and  even  at  timos  rash  character,  was  conceited  in 
his  talk,  autocratic  in  his  judgment,  and  "  respectful  in  his  life," 
to  use  his  own  surprising  expression ;  that  is  what  he  was  like 
at  that  time.  Of  course,  he  was  universally  respected,  but,  I 
am  told,  disliked  by  every  one.  It  was  a  different  matter  when 
he  ceased  to  be  a  house-serf  ;  then  he  was  spoken  about  as  a 
saint  and  a  man  who  had  suffered  much.  That  I  know  for  a 
fact. 

As  for  my  mother,  Tatyana  Pavlovna  had  kept  her  till  the  age 
of  eighteen  in  her  house,  although  the  steward  had  urged  that 
the  girl  should  be  sent  to  Moscow  to  be  trained.  She  had  given 
the  orphan  some  education,  that  is,  taught  her  sewing  and  cutting 
out  clothes,  ladyhke  deportment,  and  even  a  little  reading.  My 
mother  was  never  able  to  write  decently.  She  looked  upon  this 
marriage  with  Makar  Ivanovitch  as  something  settled  long  ago, 
and  everything  that  happened  to  her  in  those  days  she  considered 
very  good  and  all  for  the  best.  She  went  to  her  wedding  looking 
as  unmoved  as  anyone  could  on  such  an  occasion,  so  much  so 
that  even  Tatyana  Pavlovna  called  her  a  fish.  All  this  about 
my  mother's  character  at  that  time  I  heard  from  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  herself.  Versilov  arrived  just  six  months  after  this 
wedding. 


I  only  want  to  say  that  I  have  never  been  able  to  find  out 
or  to  guess  to  my  own  satisfaction  what  led  up  to  everything 
between  him  and  my  mother.  I  am  quite  ready  to  believe,  as 
he  himself  assured  me  last  year  with  a  flushed  face,  though  he 
talked  of  all  this  with  the  most  unconstrained  and  flippant  air, 
that  there  was  no  romance  about  it  at  all,  that  it  had  just  hap- 
pened. I  believe  that  it  did  just  happen,  and  that  Uttle  phrase 
jiLst  happened  is  delightful,  yet  I  always  wanted  to  know  how  it 
could  have  come  about.  I  have  always  hated  that  sort  of  nasti- 
ness  all  my  life  and  always  shall.  It's  not  simply  a  disgraceful 
curiosity  on  my  part,  of  course.     I  may  remark  that  I  knew 


absolutely  nothing  of  my  mother  till  a  year  ago.  For  the  sake 
of  Versilov's  comfort  I  was  sent  away  to  strangers,  but  of  that 
later,  and  so  I  can  never  picture  what  she  looked  like  at  that 
time.  If  she  had  not  been  at  all  pretty,  what  could  a  man  such 
as  Versilov  was  then  have  found  attractive  in  her  ?  This  ques- 
tion is  of  importance  to  me  because  it  throws  a  light  on  an 
extremely  interesting  side  of  that  man's  character.  It  is  for  that 
reason  I  ask  it  and  not  from  depravity.  Gloomy  and  reserved 
as  he  always  was,  he  told  me  himself  on  one  occasion,  with  that 
charming  candour  which  he  used  to  produce  (from  the  devil 
knows  where — ^it  seemed  to  come  out  of  his  pocket  when  he  saw 
it  was  indispensable)  that  at  that  time  he  was  a  "  v(  ry  silly 
young  puppy  "  ;  not  tLat  he  was  exactly  sentimental,  but  just 
that  he  had  lately  read  "  Poor  Anton  "  and  "  Polinka  Sachs," 
two  literary  works  which  exerted  an  immense,  humanizing 
influence  on  the  younger  generation  of  that  day.  He  added 
that  it  was  perhaps  through  "  Poor  Anton  "  that  he  went  to 
the  country,  and  he  added  it  with  the  utmost  gravity.  How 
did  that  "  silly  puppy  "  begin  at  first  with  my  mother  ?  I  have 
suddenly  realized  that  if  I  had  a  single  reader  he  would  certainly 
be  laughing  at  me  as  a  most  ridiculous  raw  youth,  still  stupidly 
innocent,  putting  himself  forward  to  discuss  and  criticize  what 
he  knows  nothing  about.  It  is  true  that  I  know  nothing  about 
it,  though  I  recognize  that  not  at  all  with  pride,  for  I  know 
how  stupid  such  inexperience  is  in  a  great  dolt  of  twenty  ;  only 
I  would  tell  such  a  gentleman  that  he  knows  nothing  about  it 
himself,  and  I  will  prove  it  to  him.  It  is  true  that  I  know  nothing 
about  women,  and  I  don't  want  to  either,  for  I  shall  always 
despise  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  have  sworn  I  wUl  all  my  life. 

But  I  know  for  certain,  though,  that  some  women  fascinate 
by  their  beauty,  or  by  anything  you  like,  all  in  a  minute,  while 
you  may  ruminate  over  another  for  six  months  before  you 
understand  what  is  in  her ;  and  that  to  see  through  and  love 
such  a  woman  it  is  not  enough  to  look  at  her,  it  is  not  enough 
to  be  simply  ready  for  anything,  one  must  have  a  special  gift 
besides.  Of  that  I  am  convinced,  although  I  do  know  nothing 
about  it :  and  if  it  were  not  true  it  would  mean  degrading  all 
women  to  the  level  of  domestic  animals,  and  only  keeping  them 
about  one  as  such  ;  possibly  this  is  what  very  many  people 
would  like. 

I  know  from  several  sources  that  my  mother  was  by  no  means 
a  beauty,  though  I  have  never  seen  the  portrait  of  her  at  that 


age  which  is  in  existence.  So  it  was  impossible  to  have  fallen 
in  love  with  her  at  first  sight.  Simply  to  "  amuse  himself  "  Ver- 
silov  might  have  pitched  on  some  one  else,  and  there  was  some 
one  else  in  the  house,  an  unmarried  girl  too,  Anfisa  Konstanti- 
novna  Sapozhkov,  a  housemaid.  To  a  man  who  had  brought 
"  Poor  Anton  "  with  him  to  the  country  it  must  have  seemed 
shameful  to  take  advantage  of  his  seignorial  rights  to  violate  the 
sanctity  of  a  marriage,  even  that  of  his  serf,  for  I  repeat,  he 
spoke  with  extreme  seriousness  of  this  "  Poor  Anton  "  only  a 
few  months  ago,  that  is,  twenty  years  after  the  event.  Why, 
"  Poor  Anton  "  only  had  his  horse  taken  from  him,  but  this 
was  a  wife  !  So  there  must  have  been  something  peculiar  in 
this  case,  and  Mile.  Sapozhkov  was  the  loser  by  it  (or  rather, 
I  should  say,  the  gainer).  I  attacked  him  with  all  these  ques- 
tions once  or  twice  last  year  when  it  was  possible  to  talk  to  him 
(for  it  wasn't  always  possible  to  talk  to  him).  And,  in  spite 
of  all  his  society  polish  and  the  lapse  of  twenty  years,  I  noticed 
that  he  winced.  But  I  persisted.  On  one  occasion,  anyway, 
although  he  maintained  the  air  of  worldly  superciliousness  which 
he  invariably  thought  fit  to  assume  with  me,  he  muttered 
strangely  that  my  mother  was  one  of  those  "  defenceless  "  people 
whom  one  does  not  fall  in  love  with — quite  the  contrary,  in  fact — 
but  whom  one  suddenly  pities  for  their  gentleness,  perhaps, 
though  one  cannot  teU  what  for.  That  no  one  ever  knows,  but 
one  goes  on  pitying  them,  one  pities  them  and  grows  fond  of 
them.  "  In  fact,  my  dear  boy,  there  are  cases  when  one  can't 
shake  it  off."  That  was  what  he  told  me.  And  if  that  was  how 
it  really  happened  I  could  not  look  upon  him  as  the  "  sUly 
puppy  "  he  had  proclaimed  himself.     That  is  just  what  I  wanted. 

He  went  on  to  assure  me,  however,  that  my  mother  loved 
him  "  through  servility."  He  positively  pretended  it  was 
because  he  was  her  master  !  He  lied,  thinking  this  was  chic  ! 
He  lied  against  his  conscience,  against  all  honour  and  generosity. 

I  have  said  all  this,  of  course,  as  it  were  to  the  credit  of  my 
mother.  But  I  have  explained  already  that  I  knew  nothing 
whatever  of  her  as  she  was  then.  What  is  more,  I  know  the 
rigidity  of  her  environment,  and  the  pitiful  ideas  in  which  she 
had  become  set  from  her  childhood  and  to  which  she  remained 
enslaved  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  The  misfortune  happened, 
nevertheless.  I  must  correct  myself,  by  the  way.  Letting 
my  fancy  run  away  with  me,  I  have  forgotten  the  fact  which 
I  ought  to  have  stated  first  of  all,  that  is,  that  the  misfortune 

8 


happened  at  the  very  outset  (I  hope  that  the  reader  \ndll  not  be 
too  squeamish  to  understand  at  once  what  I  mean).  In  fact, 
it  began  with  his  exercising  his  seignorial  rights,  although  Mile. 
Sapozhkov  was  passed  over.  But  here,  in  self-defence,  I  must 
declare  at  once  that  I  am  not  contradicting  myself.  For — good 
Lord  ! — ^what  could  a  man  like  Versilov  have  talked  about  at 
that  date  with  a  person  like  my  mother  even  if  he  had  felt  the 
most  overwhelming  love  for  her  ?  I  have  heard  from  depraved 
people  that  men  and  women  very  often  come  together  without 
a  word  being  uttered,  which  is,  of  course,  the  last  extreme  of 
monstrous  loathsomeness.  Nevertheless,  I  do  not  see  how 
Versilov  could  have  begun  differently  with  my  mother  if  he 
had  wanted  to.  Could  he  have  begun  by  expounding  "  Polinka 
Sachs  "  to  her  ?  And  besides,  they  had  no  thoughts  to  spare 
for  Russian  literature  ;  on  the  contrary,  from  what  he  said 
(he  let  himself  go  once),  they  used  to  hide  in  comers,  wait  for 
each  other  on  the  stairs,  fly  apart  like  bouncing  balls,  with 
flushed  cheeks  if  anyone  passed  by,  and  the  "  tjrrant  slave- 
owner "  trembled  before  the  lowest  scrubbing-maid,  in  spite 
of  his  seignorial  rights.  And  although  it  was  at  first  an  affair 
of  master  and  servant,  it  was  that  and  yet  not  that,  and  after 
all,  there  is  no  really  explaining  it.  In  fact,  the  more  you  go 
into  it  the  more  obscure  it  seems.  The  very  depth  and  duration 
of  their  love  makes  it  more  mysterious,  for  it  is  a  leading  charac- 
teristic of  such  men  as  Versilov  to  abandon  as  soon  as  their  object 
is  attained.  That  did  not  happen,  though.  To  transgress  with 
an  attractive,  giddy  flirt  who  was  his  serf  (and  my  mother 
was  not  a  flirt)  was  not  only  possible  but  inevitable  for  a  depraved 
young  puppy  (and  they  were  all  depraved,  every  one  of  them, 
the  progressives  as  well  as  the  reactionaries),  especially  con- 
sidering his  romantic  position  as  a  young  widower  and  his  having 
nothing  to  do.  But  to  love  her  all  his  life  is  too  much.  I  cannot 
guarantee  that  he  did  love  her,  but  he  has  dragged  her  about 
with  him  all  his  life — that's  certain. 

I  put  a  great  many  questions  to  my  mother,  but  there  is  one, 
most  important,  which,  I  may  remark,  I  did  not  venture  to  ask 
her  directly,  though  I  got  on  such  familiar  terms  with  her  last 
year ;  and,  what  is  more,  like  a  coarse,  ungrateful  puppy,  con- 
sidering she  had  wronged  me,  I  did  not  spare  her  feelings  at 
all.  This  was  the  question  :  how  she  after  six  months  of 
marriage,  crushed  by  her  ideas  of  the  sanctity  of  wedlock, 
crushed  like  some  helpless  fly,  respecting  her  Makar  Ivanovitch 


ae  though  he  had  been  a  god — how  she  cotdd  have  brought  her- 
self  in  about  a  fortnight  to  such  a  sin  ?  Was  my  mother  a 
depraved  woman,  perhaps  ?  On  the  contrary,  I  may  say  now 
at  once  that  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  anyone  more  pure-hearted 
than  she  was  then  and  has  been  all  her  life.  The  explanation 
may  be,  perhaps,  that  she  scarcely  knew  what  she  wae  doing 
(I  don't  mean  in  the  sense  in  which  lawyers  nowadays  urge  thie 
in  defence  of  their  thieves  and  murderers),  but  was  carried  away 
by  a  violent  emotion,  which  sometimes  gains  a  fatal  and  tragic 
ascendancy  when  the  victim  is  of  a  certain  degree  of  simplicity. 
There  is  no  telling :  perhaps  she  fell  madly  in  love  with  .  .  . 
the  cut  of  his  clothes,  the  Parisian  style  in  which  he  parted 
his  hair,  his  French  accent — yes,  French,  though  she  didn't 
understand  a  word  of  it — the  song  he  sang  at  the  piano  ;  she 
fell  in  love  with  something  she  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  (and 
he  was  very  handsome),  and  fell  in  love  with  him  straight  away, 
once  for  all,  hopelessly,  fell  in  love  with  him  altogether — manners, 
song,  and  all.  I  have  heard  that  this  did  sometimes  happen  to 
peasant  girls  in  the  days  of  serfdom,  and  to  the  most  virtuous, 
too,  I  understand  this,  and  the  man  is  a  scoundrel  who  puts 
it  down  to  nothing  but  servility.  And  so  perhaps  this  young 
man  may  have  had  enough  direct  power  of  fascination  to  attract 
a  creature  who  had  till  then  been  so  pure  and  who  was  of  a 
different  species,  of  an  utterly  different  world,  and  to  lead  her  on 
to  such  evident  ruin.  That  it  was  to  her  ruin  my  mother,  I  hope, 
realized  all  her  life  ;  only  probably  when  she  went  to  it  she  did 
not  think  of  ruin  at  all ;  but  that  is  how  it  always  is  with  these 
*'  defenceless  "  creatures,  they  know  it  is  ruin  and  they  rush 
upon  it. 

Having  sinned,  they  promptly  repented.  He  told  me  flip- 
pantly that  he  sobbed  on  the  shoulder  of  Makar  Ivanovitch, 
whom  he  sent  for  to  his  study  expressly  for  the  purpose,  and 
she — she  meanwhile  was  lying  unconscious  in  some  httle  back 
room  in  the  servants'  quarters.  .  ,  , 


But  enough  of  questions  and  scandalous  details.  After  pay- 
ing Makar  Ivanovitch  a  sum  of  money  for  my  mother,  Versilov 
went  away  shortly  afterwarda,  and  ever  since,  as  I  have  men- 
tioned already,  he  dragged  her  about  with  him,  almost  every- 
where he  went,  except  at  certain  times  when  he  absented  himself 

10 


for  a  considerable  period.  Then,  as  a  rule,  he  left  her  in  the 
care  of  "  auntie,"  that  is,  of  Tatyana  Pavlovna  Prutkov,  who 
always  turned  up  on  such  occasions.  They  lived  in  Moscow, 
and  also  in  other  towns  and  villages,  even  abroad,  and  finally 
in  Petersburg,  Of  all  that  later,  though  perhaps  it  is  not  worth 
recording.  I  will  only  mention  that  a  year  after  my  mother  left 
Makar  Ivanovitch,  I  made  my  appearance,  and  a  year  later 
my  sister,  and  ten  or  eleven  years  afterwards  a  sickly  child, 
my  younger  brother,  who  died  a  few  months  later.  My  mother's 
terrible  confinement  with  this  baby  was  the  end  of  her  good 
looks,  so  at  least  I  was  told  :  she  began  rapidly  to  grow  older 
and  feebler. 

But  a  correspondence  with  Makar  Ivanovitch  was  always  kept 
up.  Wherever  the  Versilovs  were,  whether  they  lived  for  some 
years  in  the  same  place,  or  were  moving  about,  Makar  Ivanovitch 
never  failed  to  send  news  of  himself  to  the  "  family."  Strange 
relations  grew  up,  somewhat  ceremonious  and  almost  solemn. 
Among  the  gentry  there  is  always  an  element  of  something 
comic  in  such  relations,  I  know.  But  there  was  nothing  of  the 
sort  in  this  case.  Letters  were  exchanged  twice  a  year,  never 
more  nor  less  frequently,  and  they  were  extraordinarily  alike. 
I  have  seen  them.  There  wsis  scarcely  anything  personal  in 
them.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  practically  nothing  but 
ceremonious  statements  of  the  most  public  incidents,  and  the 
most  public  sentiments,  if  one  may  use  such  an  expression  of 
sentiments  ;  first  came  news  of  his  own  health,  and  inquiries 
about  their  health,  then  ceremonious  hopes,  greetings  and 
blessings — that  was  all. 

I  believe  that  this  pubUcity  and  impersonality  is  looked 
upon  as  the  essence  of  propriety  and  good  breeding  among  the 
peasants.  "  To  our  much  esteemed  and  respected  spouse, 
Sofia  Andreyevna,  we  send  our  humblest  greetings.  .  .  ." 
"  We  send  to  our  beloved  children,  our  fatherly  blessing,  ever 
unalterable."  The  children  were  mentioned  by  name,  includ- 
ing me.  I  may  remark  here  that  Makar  Ivanovitch  had  so  much 
wit  as  never  to  describe  "  His  high-bom  most  respected  master, 
Andrey  Petrovitch  "  as  his  "  benefactor  "  ;  though  he  did 
invariably,  in  each  letter,  send  him  his  most  humble  greetings, 
beg  for  the  continuance  of  his  favour,  and  call  down  upon  him 
the  blessing  of  God.  The  answers  to  Makar  Ivanovitch  were 
sent  shortly  after  by  my  mother,  and  were  always  written  in 
exactly  the  same  style.     Versilov,  of  course,  took  no  part  in 

II 


the  correspondence,  Makar  Ivanovitch  wrote  from  all  parts 
of  Russia,  from  the  towns  and  monasteries  in  which  he  some- 
times stayed  for  a  considerable  time.  He  had  become  a  pilgrim, 
as  it  is  called.  He  never  asked  for  anything  ;  but  he  invariably 
turned  up  at  home  once  in  three  years  on  a  holiday,  and  stayed 
with  my  mother,  who  always,  as  it  happened,  had  her  own 
lodgings  apart  from  Versilov's.  Of  this  I  shall  have  to  say 
more  later,  here  I  will  only  mention  that  Makar  Ivanovitch 
did  not  loll  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-room,  but  always  sat 
discreetly  somewhere  in  the  background.  He  never  stayed  for 
long  :  five  days  or  a  week. 

I  have  omitted  to  say  that  he  had  the  greatest  afiEection  and 
respect  for  his  surname,  "  Dolgoruky."  Of  course  this  was 
ludicrous  stupidity.  And  what  was  most  stupid  was  that  he 
prized  his  name  just  because  there  were  princes  of  the  name. 
A  strange,  topsy-turvy  idea. 

I  have  said  that  the  family  were  always  together,  but  I  mean 
except  for  me,  of  course.  I  was  hke  an  outcast,  and,  almost 
from  my  birth,  had  been  with  strangers.  But  this  was  done 
with  no  special  design,  but  simply  because  it  had  happened  so. 
When  I  was  bom  my  mother  was  still  young  and  good-looking, 
and  therefore  necessary  to  Versilov ;  and  a  screaming  child,  of 
course,  was  always  a  nuisance,  especiaUy  when  they  were 
travelling.  That  was  how  it  happened  that  until  I  was  nine- 
teen I  had  scarcely  seen  my  mother  except  on  two  or  three  brief 
occasions.  It  was  not  due  to  my  mother's  wishes,  but  to 
Versilov's  lofty  disregard  for  people. 


Now  for  something  quite  different.  A  month  earlier,  that  is 
a  month  before  the  19th  of  September,  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  in  Moscow  to  renounce  them  all,  and  to  retire  into  my  own 
idea,  finally.  I  record  that  expression  "  retire  into  my  own 
idea  "  because  that  expression  may  explain  my  leading  motive, 
my  object  in  life.  What  that  "  idea  "  of  mine  is,  of  that  there 
will  be  only  too  much  said  later.  In  the  solitary  years  of  my 
dreamy  life  in  Moscow  it  sprang  up  in  my  mind  before  I  had  left 
the  sixth  form  of  the  grammar  school,  and  from  that  time 
perhaps  never  left  me  for  an  instant.  It  absorbed  my  whole 
existence.  Till  then  I  had  Uved  in  dreams;  from  my  childhood 
upwards  I  have  lived  in  the  world  of  dreams,  always  of  a  certain 
colour.     But  after  this  great  and  all-absorbing  idea  turned  up, 

12 


my  dreams  gained  in  force,  took  a  definite  shape  ;  and  became 
rational  instead  of  foolish.  School  did  not  hinder  my  dreams, 
and  it  did  not  hinder  the  idea  either.  I  must  add,  however, 
that  I  came  out  badly  in  the  leaving  exam,  though  I  had  always 
been  one  "of  the  first  in  all  the  forms  up  to  the  seventh,  and 
this  was  a  result  of  that  same  idea,  a  result  of  a  false  deduction 
from  it  perhaps.  So  it  was  not  school  work  that  hindered  the 
idea,  but  the  idea  that  hindered  school  work,  and  it  hindered 
university  work  too.  When  I  left  school  I  intended  at  once 
not  only  to  cut  myself  off  from  my  family  completely,  but  from 
all  the  world  if  necessary,  though  I  was  only  nineteen  at  the 
time.  I  wrote  through  a  suitable  person  to  tell  them  to  leave 
me  entirely  alone,  not  to  send  me  any  more  money  for  my 
maintenance,  and,  if  possible,  to  forget  me  altogether  (that  is 
if  they  ever  did  remember  me),  and  finally  "  nothing  would 
induce  "  me  to  enter  the  university.  An  alternative  presented 
itself  from  which  there  was  no  escaping  :  to  refuse  to  enter  the 
university  and  go  on  with  my  education,  or  to  defer  putting  my 
idea  into  practice  for  another  four  years.  I  went  for  the  idea 
without  faltering,  for  I  was  absolutely  resolved  about  it.  In 
answer  to  my  letter,  which  had  not  been  addressed  to  him, 
Versilov,  my  father,  whom  I  had  only  seen  once  for  a  moment 
when  I  was  a  boy  of  ten  (though  even  in  that  moment  he  made 
a  great  impression  upon  me),  summoned  me  to  Petersburg  in  a 
letter  vsTitten  in  his  own  hand,  promising  me  a  private  situa- 
tion. This  cold,  proud  man,  careless  and  disdainful  of  me, 
after  bringing  me  into  the  world  and  packing  me  off  to  strangers, 
knew  nothing  of  me  at  all  and  had  never  even  regretted  his 
conduct ;  who  knows,  perhaps  he  had  only  a  vague  and  confused 
idea  of  my  existence,  for  it  appeared  afterwards  that  the  money 
for  my  maintenance  in  Moscow  had  not  been  furnished  by  him 
but  by  other  people.  Yet  the  summons  of  this  man  who  so 
suddenly  remembered  me  and  deigned  to  write  to  me  with  his 
own  hand,  by  flattering  me,  decided  my  fate.  Strange  to  say, 
what  pleased  me  in  his  note  (one  tiny  sheet  of  paper)  was  that  he 
said  not  a  word  about  the  university,  did  not  ask  me  to  change 
my  mind,  did  not  blame  me  for  not  wanting  to  continue  my 
studies,  did  not,  in  fact,  trot  out  any  parental  flourishes  of  the 
kind  usual  in  such  cases,  and  yet  this  was  wrong  of  him  since  it 
betrayed  more  than  anything  his- lack  of  interest  in  me.  I 
resolved  to  go,  the  more  readily  because  it  would  not  hinder  my 
great  idea.     "  I'll  see  what  will  come  of  it,"  I  argued,  "  in  any 

13 


case  I  shall  associate  with  them  only  for  a  time  ;  possibly  a 
very  short  time.  But  as  soon  as  I  see  that  this  step,  tentative 
and  trifling  as  it  is,  is  keeping  me  from  the  great  object,  I  shall 
break  off  with  them,  throw  up  ever3rthing  and  retreat  into  my 
shell."  Yes,  into  my  shell  I  "  I  shall  hide  in  it  like  a  tortoise." 
This  comparison  pleased  me  very  much.  "  I  shall  not  be  alone," 
I  went  on  musing,  as  I  walked  about  Moscow  those  last  days 
like  one  possessed.  "  I  shall  never  be  alone  as  I  have  been 
for  so  many  awful  years  till  now  ;  I  shall  have  my  idea  to  which 
I  will  never  be  false,  even  if  I  like  them  all  there,  and  they  make 
me^iappy,  and  I  live  with  them  for  ten  years  1 "  It  was,  I  may 
remark  beforehand,  just  that  impression,  that  is,  just  the  twofold 
nature  of  the  plans  and  objects  definitely  formed  before 
leaving  Moscow,  and  never  out  of  my  mind  for  one  instant  in 
Petersburg  (for  I  hardly  think  there  was  a  day  in  Petersburg 
which  I  had  not  fixed  on  beforehand  as  the  final  date  for  breaking 
off  with  them  and  going  away),  it  was  this,  I  say,  that  was,  I 
believe,  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  many  of  the  indiscretions  I 
have  been  guilty  of  during  this  year,  many  nasty  things,  many 
even  low  things,  and  stupid  ones  of  course.  To  be  sure,  a  father, 
something  I  had  never  had  before,  had  appeared  upon  the 
scene.  This  thought  intoxicated  me  as  I  made  my  preparations 
in  Moscow  and  sat  in  the  railway  carriage.  That  he  was  my 
father  wou^ld  be  nothing.  I  was  not  fond  of  sentimentahty,  but 
this  man  had  humiliated  me  and  had  not  cared  to  know  me, 
while  all  those  years  I  had  been  chewing  away  at  my  dreams 
of  him,  if  one  may  use  such  an  expression.  From  my  childhood 
upward,  my  dreams  were  all  coloured  by  him ;  all  hovered 
about  him  as  the  final  goal.  I  don't  know  whether  I  hated  him 
or  loved  him  ;  but  his  figure  dominated  the  future  and  all  my 
schemes  of  life.  And  this  happened  of  itself.  It  grew  up  with 
me. 

Another  thing  which  influenced  me  in  leaving  Moscow  was  a 
tremendous  circumstance,  a  temptation  which  even  then,  three 
months  before  my  departure  (before  Petersburg  had  been  men- 
tioned), set  my  heart  leaping  and  throbbing.  I  was  drawn  to 
this  unknown  ocean  by  the  thought  that  I  could  enter  it  as  the 
lord  and  master  of  other  people's  destinies,  and  what  people,  too  1 
But  the  feelings  that  were  surging  in  my  heart  were  generous 
and  not  despotic — I  hasten  to  declare  it  that  my  words  may 
not  be  mistaken.  Moreover,  Veriilov  might  think  (if  he  ever 
deigned  to  think  of  me)  that  a  small  boy  who  had  just  left 

14 


school,  a  raw  youth,  was  coming  who  would  be  agape  with  wonder 
at  everything.  And  meanwhile  I  knew  all  his  private  life,  and 
had  about  me  a  document  of  the  utmost  importance,  for  which 
(I  know  that  now  for  a  i&ct)  he  would  have  given  some  years  of 
his  life,  if  I  had  told  him  the  secret  at  the  time.  But  I  notice 
that  I  am  talking  in  riddles.  One  cannot  describe  feelings  without 
facts.  Besides  which,  there  will  be  enough  about  all  this  in  its 
proper  place ;  it  is  with  that  object  I  have  taken  up  my  pen. 
Writing  like  this  is  like  a  cloud  of  words  or  the  ravings  of 
delirium. 

8 

Finally,  to  pass  once  for  all  to  the  19th  of  September,  I 
will  observe  briefly  and,  so  to  say,  cursorily,  that  I  found  them 
all,  that  ia  Versilov,  my  mother  and  my  sister  (the  latter  I  saw 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life)  in  difficult  circumstances,  almost 
destitute,  or  at  least,  on  the  verge  of  destitution.  I  knew  of 
this  before  leaving  Moscow,  but  yet  1  was  not  prepared  for 
what  I  saw.  I  had  been  accustomed  from  childhood  to  imagine 
this  man,  this  "  future  father  of  mine  "  in  brilliant  surroundings, 
and  could  not  picture  him  except  ae  the  leading  figure  every- 
where. Versilov  had  never  shared  the  same  lodgings  with  my 
mother,  but  had  always  taken  rooms  for  her  apart.  He  did  this, 
of  course,  out  of  regard  for  their  very  contemptible  "  proprieties." 
But  here  they  were  all  living  together  in  a  little  wooden  lodge 
in  a  back  street  in  the  Semyonovsky  Polk.  All  their  things 
were  in  pawn,  so  that,  without  Versilov's  knowledge,  I  gave  my 
mother  my  secret  sixty  roubles.  Secret,  because  I  had  saved 
them  up  in  the  course  of  two  years  out  of  my  pocket  money, 
which  was  five  roubles  a  month.  I  had  begun  saving  from  the 
very  day  I  had  conceived  my  "  idea,"  and  so  Versilov  must 
know  nothing  about  the  money.  I  trembled  at  the  thought  of 
that. 

My  help  was  like  a  drop  in  the  ocean.  My  mother  worked 
hard  and  my  sister  too  took  in  sewing.  Versilov  lived  in 
idleness,  indulged  his  whims  and  kept  up  a  number  of  his  former 
rather  expensive  habits.  He  grumbled  terribly,  especially  at 
dinner,  and  he  was  absolutely  despotic  in  all  his  ways.  But  my 
mother,  my  sister,  Tatyana  Pavlovna  and  the  whole  family  of 
the  late  Andronikov  (the  head  of  some  department  who  used  also 
to  manage  Versilov's  affairs  and  had  died  three  months  before), 
consisting   of   innumerable    women,    groveUed    before    him    ae 

15 


though  he  were  a  fetish.  I  had  not  imagined  this.  I  may 
remark  that  nine  years  before  he  had  been  infinitely  more 
elegant.  I  have  said  already  that  I  had  kept  the  image  of  him 
in  my  dreams  surrounded  by  a  sort  of  brilliance,  and  so  I  could 
not  conceive  how  it  was  possible  after  only  nine  years  for  him 
to  look  so  much  older  and  to  be  so  worn  out ;  I  felt  at  once 
sad,  sorry,  ashamed.  The  sight  of  him  was  one  of  the  most 
painful  of  my  first  impressions  on  my  arrival.  Yet  he  was  by 
no  means  an  old  man,  he  was  only  forty-five.  Looking  at  him 
more  closely  I  found  in  his  handsome  face  something  even  more 
striking  than  what  I  had  kept  in  my  memory.  There  was  less 
of  the  brilliance  of  those  days,  less  external  beauty,  less  elegance 
even ;  but  life  had,  as  it  were,  stamped  on  that  face  something  far 
more  interesting  than  before. 

Meanwhile  poverty  was  not  the  tenth  or  twentieth  fraction  of 
his  misfortunes,  and  I  knew  that.  There  was  something  in- 
finitely more  serious  than  poverty,  apart  from  the  fact  that 
there  was  still  a  hope  that  Versilov  might  win  the  lawsuit  he 
had  been  contesting  for  the  last  year  with  the  Prmces  Sokolsky 
and  might  in  the  immediate  future  come  into  an  estate  to  the 
value  of  seventy  thousand  or  more.  I  have  said  above  that 
Versilov  had  run  through  three  fortunes  in  his  life,  and  here 
another  fortune  was  coming  to  his  rescue  again  !  The  case  was 
to  be  settled  very  shortly.  It  was  just  then  that  I  arrived.  It 
is  true  that  no  one  would  lend  him  money  on  his  expectations, 
there  was  nowhere  he  could  borrow,  and  meanwhile  they  had 
to  suffer. 

Versilov  visited  no  one,  though  he  sometimes  was  out  for  the 
whole  day.  It  was  more  than  a  year  since  he  had  been  banished 
from  society.  In  spite  of  all  my  efforts,  this  scandal  remained 
for  the  most  part  a  mystery  though  I  had  been  a  whole  month 
in  Petersburg.  Was  Versilov  guilty  or  not  guilty — that  was 
what  mattered  to  me,  that  is  what  I  had  come  to  Petersburg  for  ! 
Every  one  had  turned  against  him — among  others  all  the  influen- 
tial and  distinguished  people  with  whom  he  had  been  particularly 
clever  in  maintaining  relations  all  his  life — in  consequence  of 
rumours  of  an  extremely  low  and — what  was  much  worse  in  the 
eyes  of  the  "  world  " — scandalous  action  which  he  was  said  to 
have  committed  more  than  a  year  ago  in  Germany.  It  was 
even  reported  that  he  had  received  a  slap  in  the  face  from  Prince 
Sokolsky  (one  of  those  with  whom  he  was  now  in  litigation)  and 
had  not  foHowed  it  by  a  challenge.     Even  his  children  (the 

i6 


legitimate  ones),  his  son  and  daughter,  had  turned  against  him 
and  лл'сге  iiolding  aloof.  It  is  true  that  through  the  influence  of 
the  Fanariotovs  and  old  Prince  Sokolsky  (who  had  been  a  friend 
of  Versilov)  the  son  and  daughter  moved  in  the  very  highest 
circles.  Yet,  watching  him  all  that  month,  I  saw  a  haughty 
man  WHO  had  rather  cast  off  "  society  "  than  been  cast  ofi  by 
it,  so  independent  was  his  air.  But  had  he  the  right  to  look 
like  that — that  was  the  question  that  agitated  me.  I  absolutely 
had  to  find  out  the  whole  truth  at  the  earliest  possible  date,  for 
I  had  come — to  judge  this  man.  I  still  kept  my  power  hidden  from 
him,  but  I  had  either  to  accept  him  or  to  reject  him  altogether. 
But  that  would  have  been  too  painful  to  me  and  I  was  in  torment. 
I  will  confess  it  frankly  at  last  :   the  man  was  dear  to  me  ! 

And  meanwhile  I  was  living  in  the  same  flat  with  him,  working, 
and  scarcely  refraining  from  being  rude.  In  fact  I  did  not 
refrain.  After  spending  a  month  with  him  I  became  more 
convinced  every  day  that  I  could  not  possibly  appeal  to  him  for 
a  full  explanation.  This  man  in  his  pride  remained  an  enigma 
to  me,  while  he  wounded  me  deeply.  He  was  positively  charming 
to  me,  and  jested  with  me,  but  I  should  have  liked  quarrels 
better  than  such  jests.  There  was  a  certain  note  of  ambiguity 
about  all  my  conversations  with  him,  or  more  simply,  a  strange 
irony  on  his  part.  From  our  first  meeting,  on  my  arrival  from 
Moscow,  he  did  not  treat  me  seriously.  I  never  could  make 
out  why  he  took  up  this  line.  It  is  true  that  by  this  means  he 
succeeded  in  remaining  impenetrable,  but  I  would  not  have 
humbled  myself  so  far  as  to  ask  him  to  treat  me  seriously. 
Besides,  he  had  certain  wonderful  and  irresistible  ways  which  I 
did  not  know  how  to  deal  with.  In  short  he  behaved  to  me  as 
though  I  were  the  greenest  of  raw  j-ouths,  which  I  was  hardly 
able  to  endure,  though  I  knew  it  Avould  be  so.  I,  too,  gave  up 
talking  seriously  in  consequence,  and  waited ;  in  fact,  I  almost 
gave  up  talking  altogether.  I  waited  for  a  person  on  whose 
arrival  in  Petersburg  I  might  finally  learn  the  truth  ;  that  was 
my  last  hope.  In  any  case  I  prepared  myself  for  a  final  rupture, 
and  had  already  taken  all  necessary  measures.  I  was  sorry  for 
my  mother  but — "  either  him  or  me,"  that  was  the  choice  I 
meant  to  ofTor  her  and  my  sister.  I  had  even  uxed  on  the  day  ; 
and  meanwhile  I  went  to  my  wotk. 


CHAPTER  П 


On  that  19th  of  September  I  was  also  to  receive  my  first  salary 
for  the  first  month  of  my  work  in  Petersburg  in  my  "  private  " 
situation.  They  did  not  ask  me  about  this  job  but  simply 
handed  me  over  to  it,  I  believe,  on  the  very  first  day  of  my  arrival. 
This  was  very  unmannerly,  and  it  was  almost  my  duty  to  protest. 
The  job  turned  out  to  be  a  situation  in  the  household  of  old 
Prince  Sokolsky.  But  to  protest  then  would  have  meant  break- 
ing off  relations  on  the  spot,  and  though  I  was  not  in  the  least 
afraid  of  that,  it  would  have  hindered  the  attainment  of  my 
primary  objects  ;  and  so  in  silence  I  accepted  the  job  for  the 
time,  maintaining  my  dignity  by  silence.  I  must  explain  from 
the  very  first  that  this  Prince  Sokobky,  a  wealthy  man  and  a 
privy  councillor,  was  no  relation  at  all  of  the  Moscow  princes 
of  that  name  (who  had  been  poor  and  insignificant  for  several 
generations  past)  with  whom  Versilov  was  contesting  his  lawsuit. 
It  was  only  that  they  had  the  same  name.  Yet  the  old  prince 
took  a  great  interest  in  them,  and  was  particularly  fond  of  one 
of  them  who  was,  so  to  speak,  the  head  of  the  family — a  young 
officer.  Versilov  had  till  recently  had  an  immense  influence 
in  this  old  man's  affairs  and  had  been  his  friend,  a  strange  sort 
of  friend,  for  the  poor  old  prince,  as  I  detected,  was  awfully 
afraid  of  him,  not  only  at  the  time  when  I  arrived  on  the  scene, 
but  had  apparently  been  always  afraid  of  him  all  through  their 
friendship.  They  had  not  seen  each  other  for  a  long  time, 
however.  The  dishonourable  conduct  of  which  Versilov  was 
accused  concerned  the  old  prince's  family.  But  Tatyana  Pav- 
lovna  had  intervened  and  it  was  through  her  that  I  was  pFaced 
in  attendance  on  the  old  prince,  who  wanted  a  "  young  man  " 
in  his  study.  At  the  same  time  it  appeared  that  he  was  very 
anxious  to  do  something  to  please  Versilov,  to  make,  so  to  speak, 
the  first  advance  to  him,  and  Versilov  allowed  it.  The  old  man 
had  made  the  arrangement  in  the  absence  of  his  daughter,  the 
widow  of  a  general,  who  would  certainly  not  have  permitted  him 
to  take  this  stop.  Of  this  later,  but  I  may  remark  that  the 
strangeness  of  hLs  relations  with  Versilov  impressed  me  in  the 
lattor's  favour.  It  occurred  to  the  imagination  that  if  the  head 
of  the  injured  family  still  cherished  a  respect  for  Versilov,  the 

i8 


rumours  of  Versilov's  scoundrelly  behaviour  must  be  absurd,  or 
at  least  exaggerated,  and  might  have  more  than  one  explanation. 
It  was  partly  this  circumstance  which  kept  me  from  protest- 
ing against  the  situation  ;  in  accepting  it  I  hoped  to  verify  all 
this. 

Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  playing  a  strange  part  at  the  time  when 
I  found  her  in  Petersburg.  I  had  almost  forgotten  her,  and  had 
not  at  all  expected  to  find  her  possessed  of  such  influence.  She 
had  met  me  three  or  four  times  during  my  life  in  Moscow,  and 
had  always  turned  up,  goodness  knows  where  from,  sent  by 
some  one  or  other  whenever  I  needed  fitting  out — to  go  into 
Touchard's  boarding  school,  or  two  and  a  half  years  later,  when 
I  was  being  transferred  to  the  grammar  school  and  sent  to 
board  with  Nikolay  Semyonovitch,  a  friend  I  shall  never  forget. 
She  used  to  spend  the  whole  day  with  me  and  inspect  my  linen  and 
my  clothes.  She  drove  about  the  town  with  me,  took  me  to 
Kuznetsky  Street,  bought  me  what  was  necessary,  provided  me 
with  a  complete  outfit,  in  fact,  down  to  the  smallest  box  and  pen- 
knife. All  the  while  she  nagged  at  me,  scolded  me,  reproached 
me,  cross-examined  me,  quoting  as  examples  to  me  various  phan- 
tom boys  among  her  relations  and  acquaintances  who  were  all  said 
to  be  better  than  I  was.  She  even  pinched  me  and  actually  gave 
me  several  vicious  pokes.  After  fitting  me  out  and  installing 
me,  she  would  disappear  completely  for  several  years.  On  this 
occasion,  too,  she  turned  up  at  once  on  my  arrival  to  instal  me 
again.  She  was  a  spare  little  figure  with  a  sharp  nose  like  a  beak, 
and  sharp  little  eyes  like  a  bird's.  She  waited  on  Versilov  like  a 
slave,  and  grovelled  before  him  as  though  he  were  the  Pope, 
but  she  did  it  through  conviction.  But  I  soon  noticed  with 
surprise  that  she  was  respected  by  all  and,  what  was  more, 
known  to  every  one  everywhere.  Old  Prince  Sokolsky  treated 
her  with  extraordinary  deference  ;  it  was  the  same  thing  with 
his  family  ;  the  same  with  Versilov's  haughty  children  ;  the  same 
with  the  Fanariotovs  ;  and  yet  she  lived  by  taking  in  sewing,  and 
washing  lace,  and  fetched  work  from  the  shops.  She  and  I  fell 
out  at  the  first  word,  for  she  thought  fit  to  begin  naggmg  at  me 
just  as  she  had  done  six  years,  before.  And  from  that  time  for- 
ward we  quarrelled  every  day,  but  that  did  not  prevent  us  from 
sometimes  talking,  and  I  must  confess  that  by  the  end  of  the 
month  I  began  to  like  her  :  for  her  independent  character,  I 
believe.     But  I  did  not  tell  her  so. 

I  realized  at  once  that  I  had  only  been  given  this  post  at  the 

19 


old  invalid  prince's  in  order  to  "  amuse  "  him,  and  that  that  was 
my  \v!k)1c  duty.     Naturally  this  Avas  humiliating,  and  I  should 
at  once  have  taken  steps,  but  the  queer  old  fellow  soon  made  an 
unexpected   impres^^ion  upon  me.     I  felt  something  like  com- 
pas.sion  for  him,  and  by  the  end  jf  the  month  1  had  become 
strangeh''  attached  to  him  ;    anyway  I  gave  up  my  intention  of 
being  rude.     He  was  not  more  than  sixty,  however,  but  there  had 
been  a  great  to-do  with  him  a  year  and  a  half  before,  when  he 
suddeiily  had  a  fit.     He  was  travelling  somewhere  and  went  mad 
on  the  way,  so  there  \vas  sora 'thing  of  a  scandal  of  Avhich  people 
talked  in  Petersburg.     As  is  usual  in  such  cases,  he  was  instantly 
taken  abroad,   but  five  months  later  he  suddenly  reappeared 
perfectly  well,  though  he  gave  up  the  service.     Versilov  asserted 
seriously  (and  Avith  noticeable  heat)  that  he  had  not  been  insane 
at  all,  but  had  only  had  some  sort  of  nervous  fit.     I  promptly 
mule  a  note  of  Versilov's  Avarmth  about  it.     I  may  observe, 
however,  that  I  Avas  disposed  to  share  his  opinion.     The  old  man 
only  showed  perhaps  an  excessive  frivolity  at  times,  not  quite 
apjiropriate  to  his  years,  of  which,  so  they  say,  there  was  no  sign 
in  hira  bt^fore.     It  Mas  said  that  in  the  past  he  had  been  a  coun- 
cillor of  som^  sort,  and  on  one  occasion  had  quite  distinguished 
liimself  in  som  ^  commission  with  which  he  had  been  charged. 
After  knowing  him  for  a  Avhole  month,  I  should  never  have 
supposed  he  could  have  any  special  capacity  as  a  councillor. 
People  observed  (though  I  saw  nothing  of  it)  that  after  his  fit 
he  developed   a   marked   disposition  to   rush   into  matrimony, 
and  it  was  said  that  he  had  more  than  once  reverted  to  this  idea 
during  the  last  eighteen  months,  that  it  was  known  in  society  and 
a  subject  of  interest.  But  as  this  weakness  by  no  moans  fell  m 
with  the  interests  of  certain  persons  of  the  prince's  circle,  the  old 
man  was  guarded  on  all  sides.     He  had  not  .a  large  family  of  his 
own  ;    he  had  been  a  widower  for  twenty  3'ears,  and  had  only 
one  daughter,  the  general's  widow,  who  was  now  daily  expected 
from  iMoscow.     8he  Mas  a  young  person  M'hose  strength  of  Avill 
was  evidently  a  source  of  apprehension  to  the  old  man.     But  he 
had  masses  of  distant  relatives,  principally  through  his  Avife, 
who  were  all  almost  beggars,  besitles  a  multitude  of  proteges  of 
all  sorts,  male  and  female,  all  of  Avhom  expected  to  be  mentioned 
in  his  will,  and  so  they  all   suyjportfd   the  general's  Avidow  in 
keeping  Avateh  over  the  old  man.     He  had,  moreover,  had  one 
strange  propensity  from  his  youth  up  (I  don't  know  Avhether  it 
was  ridiculous  or  not)  for  making  matches  for  poor  girls.     He 

20 


had  been  finding  husbands  for  the  last  twenty-five  year? — fcr 
distant  relations,  for  the  step-daughters  of  his  wife's  cousins, 
for  his  god-daughters  ;  he  even  found  a  husband  for  the  daughter 
of  his  house  porter.  He  used  to  take  his  protegees  into  his  house 
when  they  were  little  girls,  provide  them  with  governesses  and 
French  mademoiselles,  then  have  them  educated  in  the  best 
boarding  schools,  and  finally  marry  thtm  oG  with  a  dowry. 
The  calls  upon  him  were  continually  increasing.  When  his 
protegees  were  married  the}'  naturally  produced  more  liitle  girls  ; 
and  all  these  little  girls  became  his  protegees.  He  was  always 
having  to  stand  as  god-father.  The  \vhole  lot  turned  up  to  con- 
gratulate him  on  his  birthdays,  and  it  was  ajl  very  agreeable  to  him. 

I  noticed  at  с  nee  that  the  old  msn  had  lurking  in  his  mind 
a  painful  conviction  (it  was  impossible  to  avoid  noticing  it, 
mdeed)  that  every  one  had  begun  to  look  at  him  strangely,  that 
everyone  had  begun  to  behave  to  bira  not  as  before,  not  as  to  a 
healthy  man.  This  impression  never  left  him  even  at  the  livelici-t 
social  functions.  The  old  man  had  become  suspicious,  had  begun 
to  detect  something  in  every  one's  eyes.  He  was  evidently 
tormented  by  the  idea  that  every  one  .susi^^ctcd  him  of  beinp  mad. 
He  sometimes  looked  mistrustfully  even  at  me.  And  if  he  had 
found  out  that  some  one  was  spreading  or  u];ho]ding  such  rumours, 
the  benevolent  old  man  would  have  become  his  implacable  foe. 
I  beg  that  this  circumstance  may  be  noted.  I  may  add  that  it 
was  what  decided  me  from  the  first  day  not  to  be  rude  to  him  ; 
in  fact,  I  was  glad  if  I  were  able  sometimes  to  amuse  or  entertain 
him  ;  I  don't  think  that  this  confession  can  cast  any  slur  on  my 
dignity. 

The  greater  part  of  his  monf}'  was  invested.  He  had  since  his 
illness  become  a  partner  in  a  large  joint  stock  enterprise,  a  very 
safe  one,  however.  And  though  the  management  was  in  other 
hands  he  took  a  great  interest  in  it,  too,  attended  the  share- 
holders' meetings,  was  appointed  a  director,  presided  at  the 
board- meetings,  opposed  motions,  was  noisy  and  obviously 
enjoyed  himself.  He  Avas  very  fond  of  making  speeches  ;  every 
one  could  judge  of  his  brain  anA'waj'.  And  in  general  he  de- 
veloped a  great  fancy  for  introducing  profound  reflections  and 
bon  mots  in  his  conversation,  even  ui  the  intimacj^  of  private  life. 
I  quite  understand  it. 

On  the  ground  floor  of  his  house  there  was  something  like  a 
private  оШсе  where  a  single  clerk  kept  the  books  and  accounts 
and  also  managed  the  house.     This  clerk  was  v^uite  equal  to  the 

21 


work  alone,  though  he  had  some  government  job  as  well,  but  by 
the  prince's  own  wish  I  was  engaged  to  assist  him  ;  but  I  was 
immediately  transferred  to  the  prince's  study,  and  often  had  no 
work  before  me,  not  even  books  or  papers  to  keep  up  appearances. 
I  am  writing  now  sobered  by  time  ;  and  about  many  things  feel 
now  almost  like  an  outsider ;  but  how  can  I  describe  the  de- 
pression (I  recall  it  vividly  at  this  moment)  that  weighed  down 
my  heart  in  those  days,  and  still  more,  the  excitement  which 
reached  such  a  pitch  of  confused  feverishness  that  I  did  not 
sleep  at  night — all  due  to  my  impatience,  to  the  riddles  I  had  set 
myself  to  solve. 


To  ask  for  money,  even  a  salary,  is  a  most  disgusting  business, 
especially  if  one  feels  in  the  recesses  of  one's  conscience  that  one 
has  not  quite  earned  it.  Yet  the  evening  before,  my  mother  had 
been  whispering  to  my  sister  apart  from  Versilov  ("  so  as  not  to 
worry  Audrey  Petrovitch  ")  that  she  intended  to  take  the  ikon 
which  for  some  reason  was  particularly  precious  to  her  to  the 
pawnbroker's.  I  was  to  be  paid  fifty  roubles  a  month,  but  I  had 
no  idea  how  I  should  receive  the  money  ;  nothing  had  been  said 
to  me  about  it. 

Meeting  the  clerk  downstairs  three  days  before,  I  inquired  of 
him  whom  one  was  to  ask  for  one's  salary.  He  looked  at  me 
with  a  smile  as  though  of  astonishment  (he  did  not  like  me). 

"  Oh,  you  get  a  salary  ?  " 

I  thought  that  on  my  answering  he  would  add  : 

••  What  for  ?  " 

But  he  merely  answered  drily,  that  he  "  knew  nothing  about  it,'* 
and  buried  himself  in  the  ruled  exercise  book  into  which  he  was 
copying  accounts  from  some  bills. 

He  was  not  unaware,  however,  that  I  did  something.  A  fort- 
night before  I  had  spent  four  days  over  work  he  had  given  me, 
making  a  fair  copy,  and  as  it  turned  out,  almost  a  fresh  draft  of 
something.  It  was  a  perfect  avalanche  of  "  ideas "  of  the 
prince's  which  he  was  preparing  to  present  to  the  board  of 
directors.  These  had  to  be  put  together  into  a  whole  and 
clothed  in  suitable  language,  I  spent  a  whole  day  with  the 
prince  over  it  afterwards,  and  he  argued  very  warmly  with  me, 
but  was  well  satisfied  in  the  end.  But  I  don't  know  whether  he 
read  the  paper  or  not.  I  say  nothing  of  the  two  or  three  letters, 
also  about  business,  which  I  wrote  at  his  request. 

22 


It  was  annoying  to  me  to  have  to  ask  for  my  salary  because 
I  had  already  decided  to  give  up  my  situation,  foreseeing  that  I 
should  be  obliged  through  unavoidable  circumstances  to  go  aw  ay. 
When  I  waked  up  and  dressed  that  morning  in  my  garret  up- 
stairs, I  felt  that  my  heart  was  beating,  and  though  I  pooh- 
poohed  it,  yet  I  was  conscious  of  the  same  excitement  as  I  walked 
towards  the  prince's  house.  That  morning  there  Mas  expected 
a  луотап,  whose  presence  I  was  reckoning  upon  for  the 
explanation  of  ail  that  was  tormenting  me !  This  was  the 
prince's  daughter,  the  3'oung  widow  of  General  Ahmakov,  of 
whom  I  have  spoken  already  and  who  was  bitterly  hostile  to 
Versilov.  At  last  I  have  written  that  name  !  I  had  never  seen 
her,  of  course,  and  could  not  imagine  how  I  should  speak  to  her 
or  whether  I  should  speak,  but  I  imagined  (perhaps  on  sufficient 
grounds)  that  with  her  arrival  there  "would  be  Fome  light  thjtoAvn 
on  the  darkness  surrounding  Versilov  in  my  eyes.  I  could  not 
remain  unmoved.  It  was  frightfully  annoying  that  at  the  very 
outset  I  should  be  so  cowardly  and  awkward  ;  it  was  awfully 
interesting,  and,  still  more,  sickening — three  impressions  at  once. 
I  remember  every  detail  of  that  day  ! 

My  old  prince  knew  nothing  of  his  daughter's  probable  arrival, 
and  was  not  expectmg  her  to  return  from  Moscow  for  a  week. 
I  had  learnt  this  the  evenii^g  before  quite  by  chance  :  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  who  had  received  a  letter  from  Mme.  Ahmakov,  let 
it  out  to  my  mother.  Though  they  were  whispering  and  spoke 
in  veiled  allusions,  I  guessed  what  was  meant.  Of  course  I 
was  not  eavesdropping,  I  simply  could  not  avoid  listening  wjhen  I 
saw  how  agitated  my  mother  was  at  the  news  of  this  woman's 
arrival.     Versilov  was  not  in  the  house. 

I  did  not  want  to  tell  the  old  prince  because  I  could  not  help 
noticing  all  that  time  how  he  was  dreading  her  arrival.  He  had 
even  let  di-op  three  days  before,  though  only  by  a  timid  and 
remote  hint,  that  he  was  afraid  of  her  coming  on  my  account ; 
that  is  that  he  would  Ijave  trouble  about  me.  I  must  add,  how- 
ever, that  in  his  own  family  he  preserved  his  independence  and 
was  still  master  in  his  own  house,  especially  in  money  matters. 
My  first  judgment  of  him  was  that  he  was  a  regular  old  woman, 
but  I  was  afterwards  oblig(>d  to  revise  m}'  opinion,  and  to  recognize 
that,  if  he  were  an  old  woman,  there  was  still  a  fund  of  obstinacy, 
if  not  of  real  manliness,  in  him.  There  were  moments  when  one 
could  hardly  do  anything  with  him  in  spite  of  his  apprehensive 
and  yielding  character.     Versilov  explained   this  to  me   more 

^3 


fully  later.  I  recall  now  with  interest  that  the  old  prince  and  I 
scarcely  ever  spoke  of  his  daughter,  we  seemed  to  avoid  it  :  I 
in  particular  avoided  it,  while  he,  on  his  side,  avoided  mentioning 
Versilov,  and  I  guessed  that  he  would  not  answer  if  I  were  to  ask 
him  one  of  the  delicate  questions  which  interested  me  so  much. 

If  anyone  cares  to  know  what  we  did  talk  about  all  that  month 
I  must  answer  that  we  really  talked  of  everj^hing  in  the  world, 
but  alwsys  of  the  queerest  things.  I  was  delighted  with  the 
extraordinary  simplicity  with  which  he  treated  me.  Sometimes 
I  looked  with  extreme  astonishment  at  the  old  man  and  wondered 
how  he  could  ever  have  presided  at  meetings.  If  he  had  been 
put  into  our  school  and  in  the  fourth  class  too,  what  a  nice  school- 
fellow he  would  have  made.  More  than  once,  too,  I  was  surprised 
by  his  face  ;  it  was  very  serious-looking,  almost  handsome  and 
thin  ;  he  had  thick  curly  grey  hair,  wide-open  eyes  ;  and  he  was 
besides  slim  and  well  built  ;  but  there  was  an  unpleasant,  almost 
unseemly,  peculiarity  about  his  face,  it  would  suddenly  change 
from  excessive  gravity  to  an  expression  of  exaggerated  playfulness, 
which  was  a  complete  surprise  to  a  person  who  saw  him  for  the 
first  time.  I  spoke  of  this  to  Versilov,  who  listened  with  curiosity  ; 
I  fancy  that  he  had  not  expected  me  to  be  capable  of  making 
such  observations  ;  he  observed  casually  that  this  had  come  upon 
the  prince  since  his  illness  and  probably  only  of  late. 

We  used  to  talk  principally  of  two  abstract  subjects — of  God 
and  of  His  existence,  that  is,  whether  there  was  a  God  or  not — 
and  of  women.  The  prince  was  very  religious  and  sentimental. 
He  had  in  his  study  a  huge  stand  of  ikons  with  a  lamp  burning 
before  them.  But  something  seemed  to  come  over  him — and  he 
would  begin  expressing  doubts  of  the  existence  of  God  and 
would  say  astounding  things,  obviously  challenging  me  to  answer. 
I  was  not  much  interested  in  the  question,  speaking  generally, 
but  we  both  got  very  hot  about  it  and  quite  genuinely.  I  recall 
all  those  conversations  even  now  with  pleasure.  But  what  he 
liked  best  was  goss  ping  about  women,  and  he  was  sometimes 
positively  disappointed  at  my  disl  king  this  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, and  making  such  a  poor  response  to  it. 

He  began  talking  in  that  style  as  soon  as  I  went  in  that  morning. 
I  found  him  in  a  jocose  mood,  though  I  had  left  him  the  night 
before  extremely  melancholy.  Meanwhile  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  for  me  to  settle  the  matter  of  the  salary — before  the 
arrival  of  certain  persons.  I  reckoned  that  that  morning  we 
should  certainly  be  interrupted  (it  was  not  for  nothing  m}'  heart 

24 


was  beating)  and  then  perhaps  I  should  not  be  able  to  bring  my- 
self to  speak  of  money.  But  I  did  not  know  how  to  begin  about 
money  and  I  was  naturally  angry  at  my  stupidity.  And,  as  I 
remember  now  in  my  vexation  at  some  too  jocular  question  of  his, 
I  blurted  out  my  views  on  women  point-blank  and  with  great 
vigour. 

And  this  led  him  to  be  more  expansive  with  me  than  ever. 


"  I  don't  like  women  because  they've  no  manners,  because 
they  are  awkward,  because  they  are  not  self-reliant,  and  becatise 
they  wear  unseemly  clothes  !  "  I  wound  up  my  long  tirade 
incoherently. 

"  My  dear  boy,  spare  us  !  "  he  cried,  immensely  delighted, 
which  enraged  me  more  than  ever. 

I  am  ready  to  give  way  and  be  trivial  only  about  trifles.  I 
never  give  way  in  things  that  are  really  important.  In  trifles, 
in  little  matters  of  etiquette,  you  can  do  anything  you  like  with 
me,  and  I  curse  this  peculiarity  in  myself.  From  a  sort  of 
putrid  good  nature  I've  sometimes  been  ready  to  knuckle 
under  to  some  fashionable  snob,  simply  flattered  by  his  affability, 
or  I've  let  myself  be  drawn  into  argument  with  a  fool,  which  is 
more  unpardonable  than  anything.  All  this  is  due  to  lack  of 
self-control,  and  to  my  having  grown  up  in  seclusion,  but  next 
day  it  would  be  the  same  thing  again  :  that's  why  I  was  some- 
times taken  for  a  boy  of  sixteen.  But  instead  of  gaining  self- 
control  I  prefer  even  now  to  bottle  myself  up  more  tightly  than 
ever  in  my  shell — "  I  may  be  clumsy — but  good-bye  !  " — 
however  misanthropic  that  may  seem.  I  say  that  seriously 
and  for  good.  But  I  don't  write  this  with  reference  to  the 
prince  or  even  with  reference  to  that  conversation. 

"  I'm  not  speaking  for  your  entertainment,"  I  almost  shouted 
at  him.     "  I  am  speaking  from  conviction." 

"  But  how  do  you  mean  that  women  have  no  manners  and 
are  unseemly  in  their  dress  ?     That's  something  new." 

"  They  have  no  manners.  Go  to  the  theatre,  go  for  a  walk. 
Every  man  knows  the  right  side  of  the  road,  when  they  meet 
they  step  aside,  he  keeps  to  the  right,  I  keep  to  the  right.  A 
woman,  that  is  a  lady — it's  ladies  I'm  talking  about— dashes 
straight  at  you  as  though  she  doesn't  see  you,  as  though  you  were 
absolutely  bound  to  skip  aside  and  make  way  for  her.  I'm  prepared 

25 


to  make  way  for  her  as  a  weaker  creature,  but  why  has  she  the 
right,  why  is  ehe  so  sure  it's  my  duty — that's  what's  offensive.  I 
always  curse  when  I  meet  them .  And  after  that  they  cry  out  that 
they're  oppressed  and  demand  equahty ;  a  fine  sort  of  equahty 
when  she  tramples  me  under  foot  and  fills  my  mouth  with  sand." 

"  With  sand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  because  they're  not  decently  dressed — it's  only  depraved 
people  don't  notice  it.  In  the  law-courts  they  close  the  doors 
when  they're  trying  cases  of  indecency.  Why  do  they  allow  it 
in  the  streets,  where  there  are  more  people  ?  They  openly 
hang  bustles  on  behind  to  look  as  though  they  had  fine  figures  ; 
openly  !  I  can't  help  noticing  ;  the  young  lad  notices  it  too ; 
and  the  child  that's  growing  into  a  boy  notices  it  too  ;  it's 
abominable.  Let  old  rakes  admire  them  and  nin  after  them 
with  their  tongues  hanging  out,  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as  the 
purity  of  youth  which  must  be  protected.  One  can  only  despise 
them.  They  walk  along  the  parade  with  trains  half  a  yard  long 
behind  them,  sweeping  up  the  dust.  It's  a  pleasant  thing  to 
walk  behind  them  :  you  must  run  to  get  in  front  of  them,  or 
jump  on  one  side,  or  they'll  sweep  pounds  of  dust  into  yoxir 
mouth  and  nose.  And  what's  more  it's  silk,  and  they'll  drag  it 
over  the  stones  for  a  couple  of  miles  simply  because  it's  the 
fashion,  when  their  husbands  get  five  hundred  roubles  a  year  in 
the  Senate  :  that's  where  bribes  come  in  I  I've  always  despised 
them.     I've  cursed  them  aloud  and  abused  them." 

Though  I  describe  this  conversation  somewhat  humorously 
in  the  style  that  was  characteristic  of  me  at  that  time,  my 
ideas  are  still  the  same. 

"  And  how  do  you  come  off  ?  "  the  prince  queried. 

"  I  curse  them  and  turn  away.  They  feel  it,  of  course,  but 
they  don't  show  it,  they  prance  along  majestically  without 
turning  their  heads.  But  I  only  came  to  actual  abuse  on  one 
occasion  with  two  females,  both  wearing  tails  on  the  parade  ; 
of  course  I  didn't  use  bad  language,  but  I  said  aloud  that  long 
tails  were  offensive." 

"  Did  you  use  that  expression  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did.  To  begin  with,  they  trample  upon  the 
rules  of  social  life,  and  secondly,  they  raise  the  dust,  and  the 
parade  is  meant  for  all.  I  walk  there,  other  men  walk,  Fyodor, 
Ivan,  it's  the  same  for  all.  So  that's  what  I  said.  And  I 
dislike  the  way  women  walk  altogether,  when  you  look  at  their 
back  view  ;  I  told  them  that  too,  but  only  hinted  at  it." 

26 


"  But,  mj'  dear  boy,  ^ou  might  get  into  serious  trouble  ;  they 
might  have  hauled  3'ou  off  to  the  police  station." 

"  They  couldn't  do  anything.  They  had  nothing  to  complain 
of  :  a  man  walks  beside  them  talking  to  himself.  Every  one  has 
the  right  to  express  his  convictions  to  the  air.  I  spoke  in  the 
abstract  without  addressing  them.  They  began  wTangling  \\  ith 
me  of  themselves  ;  they  began  to  abuse  me,  they  used  much 
worse  language  than  I  did  ;  they  called  me  milksop,  said  I  ought 
to  go  without  my  dinner,  called  me  a  nihilist,  and  threatened  to 
hand  me  over  to  the  police  ;  said  that  I'd  attacked  them  because 
they  were  alone  and  weak  women,  but  if  thcre'd  been  a  man 
with  them  I  should  soon  sing  another  tunc.  I  very  coolly  told 
them  to  leave  off  annoying  me,  and  I  would  cross  to  the  other 
side  of  the  street.  And  to  show  them  that  I  was  not  in  the 
least  afraid  of  their  men,  and  was  ready  to  accept  their  challenge, 
I  would  follow  them  to  their  house,  Avalking  twenty  paces 
behind  them,  then  I  would  stand  before  the  house  and  wait  for 
their  men.     And  so  I  did." 

"  You  don't  say  so  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  was  stupid,  but  1  •was  roused.  They  dragged 
me  over  two  miles  in  the  heat,  as  far  as  the  'institutions,' 
they  went  into  a  wooden  house  of  one  storey — a  very  respectable- 
Ipoking  one  I  must  admit — one  could  see  in  at  the  windows 
a  great  many  flowers,  two  canaries,  three  pug-dogs  and  engrav- 
ings in  frames.  I  stood  for  half  an  hour  in  the  street  facing 
the  house.  They  peeped  out  two  or  three  times,  then  pulled 
down  all  the  blinds.  Finally  an  elderly  government  clerk  came 
out  of  the  little  gate  ;  judging  from  his  appearance  he  had  been 
asleep  and  had  been  waked  up  on  purpose  ;  he  Avas  not  actually 
in  a  dressing-gown,  but  he  was  in  a  very  domestic-locking 
attixe.  He  stcod  at  the  gate,  folded  his  hands  behind  him,  and 
proceeded  to  stare  at  me — I  at  him.  Then  he  looked  away,  then 
gazed  at  me  again,  and  suddenly  began  smilmg  at  me.  I  turned 
and  walked  алуау." 

"  My  dear  boy,  how  Schilleresque  !  I've  always  wondered  at 
you  ;  with  your  rosy  cheeks,  your  face  blooming  Avith  health, 
and  such  an  aversion,  one  may  say,  for  women  !  How  is  it 
possible  that  woman  does  not  make  a  certain  impression  on  you 
at  your  age  ?  Why,  when  I  was  a  boy  of  eleven,  топ  cher,  my 
tutor  used  to  notice  that  I  looked  too  attentively  at  the  statues 
in  the  Summer  Gardens." 

"  You  would  like  me  to  take  up  with  some  Josephine  here, 

27 


and  come  and  tell  you  all  about  it  !  Rather  not ;  I  saw  a 
woman  completely  naked  when  I  was  thirteen  ;  I've  had  a 
feeling  of  disgust  ever  since." 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?     But,  cher  enfant,  about  a  fresh,  beautiful 
woman  there's  a  scent  of  apples  ;   there's  nothing  disgusting." 

"  In  the  little  boarding  school  I  was  at  before  I  Avent  to  the 
grammar  school,  there  was  a  boy  called  Lambert.  He  was 
always  thrashing  me,  for  he  was  three  years  older  than  I  was, 
and  I  used  to  \vait  on  him,  and  take  off  his  boots.  When  he 
was  going  to  be  confirmed  an  abbe,  called  Pi^igaud,  came  to 
congratulate  him  on  his  first  communion,  and  they  di.ssolved  in 
t^ars  on  each  other's  necks,  and  the  abbe  hugged  him  tightly  to 
his  bosom.  I  shed  tears,  too,  and  felt  very  envious.  He  left 
school  when  his  father  died,  and  for  two  years  I  saw  nothing  of 
him.  Then  I  met  him  in  the  street.  He  said  he  would  come 
and  see  m'\  By  that  time  I  was  at  the  grammar  school  and 
living  at  Nikolay  Semyonovitch's.  He  came  in  the  morning, 
showed  me  five  hundred  roubles,  and  told  me  to  go  Avith  him. 
Though  he  had  thrashed  me  two  j'cars  before,  he  had  always 
wanted  my  company,  not  simply  to  take  off  his  boots,  but 
because  he  liked  to  tell  me  things.  He  told  me  that  he  had 
taken  the  money  that  day  out  of  his  mother's  desk,  to  which  he 
had  made  a  false  key,  for  legally  all  his  father's  money  was  his, 
and  so  much  the  worse  for  her  if  she  wouldn't  give  it  to  him.  He 
said  that  the  Abbe  Rigaud  had  been  to  lecture  him  the  day 
before,  that  he'd  come  in,  stood  over  him,  begun  whimpering, 
and  described  all  sorts  of  horrors,  lifting  up  his  hands  to  heaven. 
"  And  I  pulled  oat  a  knife  and  told  him  Id  cut  his  throat  " 
(he  pronounced  it  '  thr-r-roat ').  We  went  to  Kuznetsky 
Street.  On  the  way  he  informed  me  that  his  mother  was 
the  abbe's  mistress,  and  that  he'd  found  it  out,  and  he  didn't 
care  a  hang  for  anything,  and  that  all  they  said  abou*  the 
sacrament  was  rubbish.  He  said  a  great  deal  more,  and  I 
felt  frightened.  In  Kuznetsky  Street  he  bought  a  double- 
barrellfd  gun,  a  game  bag,  cartridges,  a  riding-whip,  and  after- 
wards a  pound  of  sweets.  We  were  going  out  into  the  coimtry 
to  shoot,  and  on  the  way  we  met  a  bird-aitcher  with  cages  of 
birds.  Lambert  bought  a  canary  from  him.  In  a  wood  he  let 
the  canary  go,  as  it  couldn't  fly  far  after  being  in  the  cage,  and 
began  shooting  at  it,  but  did  not  hit  it.  It  was  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  had  fired  off  a  gun,  but  he  had  wanted  to  buy  a 
gun  years  before ;  at  Touchard's  even  we  were  dreaming  of  one. 


He  was  almost  choking  with  excitement.  His  hair  was  black, 
awfully  black,  his  face  was  white  and  red,  like  a  mask,  he  had  a 
long  aquiline  nose,  such  as  are  common  with  Frenchmen,  white 
teeth  and  black  eyes.  He  tied  the  canary  by  a  thread  to  a 
branch,  and  an  inch  away  find  off  both  barrels,  and  the  bird 
was  blown  into  a  hundred  feathers.  Then  we  returned,  drove 
to  an  hotel,  took  a  room,  and  Ы  gan  eating,  and  drinking  cham- 
pagne ;  a  lady  came  in.  ...  I  remember  being  awfully  imj)rrssed 
by  her  being  so  splendidly  dressed  ;  she  wore  a  green  silk  dress. 
It  was  then  I  saw  ...  all  that  I  told  you  about.  .  .  .  After- 
wards, when  we  had  begun  drinking,  he  began  taunting  and 
abusing  her  ;  she  was  sitting  with  nothing  on,  he  took  away 
her  clothes  and  when  she  began  scolding  and  asking  for  her 
clothes  to  dress  again,  he  began  with  all  his  might  beating  her 
Avith  the  riding-whip  on  her  bare  shoulders.  I  got  up,  seized 
him  by  the  hair,  and  so  neatly  that  I  threw  him  on  the  ground 
at  once.  He  snatched  up  a  fork  and  stuck  it  in  my  leg.  Hearing 
the  outcry,  people  ran  in,  and  I  had  time  to-  run  away.  Ever 
since  then  it's  disgusted  me  to  think  of  nakedness  ;  and,  believe 
me,  she  was  a  beauty." 

As  I  talked,  the  prince's  face  changed  from  a  playful  expression 
to  one  of  great  sadness. 

"  J\Ion  pauvre  enfant  !  I  have  felt  convinced  all  along  that 
there  have  been  very  many  unhappy  days  in  your  childhood." 

"  Please  don't  distress  yourself  !  " 

"  But  you  were  alone,  you  told  me  so  yourself,  but  for  that 
Lambert ;  you  have  described  it  so  well,  that  canary,  the 
confirmation  and  shedding  tears  on  the  abbe's  breast,  and  only 
a  year  or  so  later  saying  that  of  his  mother  and  the  abbe  !  .  .  . 
Oh,  топ  cher,  the  question  of  childhood  in  our  day  is  truly 
awful  ;  for  a  time  those  golden  heads,  curly  and  innocent, 
flutter  before  one  and  look  at  one  with  their  clear  eyes  like  angels 
of  God,  or  little  birds,  and  afterwards  .  .  .  and  afterwards  it 
turns  out  that  it  would  have  been  better  if  they  had  not  grown 
up  at  all  !  " 

"  How  soft  you  are,  prince  !  It's  as  though  you  had  Httle 
children  of  your  own.  Why,  you  haven't  any  and  never  will 
have." 

"  Ticns  !  "  His  whole  face  was  instantly  transformed, 
"  that's  just  what  Alexandra  Petrovna  said — the  day  before 
yesterday,  he-he  ! — Alexandra  Petrovna  Sinitsky — ^j-ou  must 
have  met  her  here  three  weeks  ago — only  fancy,  the  day  before 

29 


yesterday,  in  reply  to  my  jocular  remark  that  if  I  do  get  married 
now  I  could  set  my  mind  at  rest,  there'd  be  no  children,  she 
suddenly  said,  and  with  such  spite,  '  On  the  contrary,  there 
certainly  would  be  ;  people  like  you  always  have  them,  they'll 
arrive  the  very  first  year,  you'll  see.'  He-he  !  And  they've  all 
taken  it  into  their  heads,  for  some  reason,  that  I'm  going  to  get 
married  ;   but  though  it  was  spiteful  I  admit  it  was — ^witty  !  " 

"  Witty — but  insulting  !  " 

"  Oh,  cher  enfant,  one  can't  take  offence  at  some  people. 
There's  nothing  I  prize  so  much  in  people  as  wit,  which  is 
evidently  disappearing  among  us  ;  though  what  Alexandra 
Petrovna  said — can  hardly  be  considered  wit." 

"  What  ?  What  did  you  say  ?  "  I  said,  catching  at  his 
words — "  one  can't  take  offence  at  some  people.  That's  just  it  ! 
Some  people  are  not  worth  noticing — an  excellent  principle  ! 
Just  the  one  I  need.  I  shall  make  a  note  of  it.  You  sometimes 
say  the  most  delightful  things,  prince." 

He  beamed  all  over. 

"  N'est  ce  pas  ?  Cher  enfant,  true  wit  is  vanishing ;  the 
longer  one  lives  the  more  one  sees  it.  Eh,  mais  .  .  .  c'est  moi 
qui  connait  les  femmes  !  Believe  me,  the  life  of  every  woman, 
whatever  she  may  profess,  is  nothing  but  a  perpet\ial  search  for 
some  one  to  submit  to  ...  so  to  speak  a  thirst  for  submission. 
And  mark  ray  words,  there's  not  a  single  exception." 

"  Perfectly  true  !  Magnificent  !  "  I  cried  rapturously.  An- 
other time  Ave  should  have  launched  into  philosophical  disqui- 
sitions on  this  theme,  lasting  for  an  hour,  but  suddenly  I  felt  as 
though  something  had  bitten  me,  and  I  flushed  all  over.  I 
suddenly  imaghaed  that  in  admiring  his  bon  mots  I  was  flattering 
him  as  a  prelude  to  asking  for  money,  and  that  he  would  certainly 
think  so  as  soon  as  I  began  to  ask  for  it.  I  purposely  mention 
this  now. 

"  Prince,  I  humbly  beg  you  to  pay  me  at  once  the  fifty  roubles 
you  owe  me  for  the  month,"  I  fired  off  like  a  shot,  in  a  tone  of 
irritability  that  was  positively'  rude. 

I  remember  (for  I  remember  every  detail  of  that  morning) 
that  there  followed  betAveen  us  then  a  scene  most  disgusting  in 
its  realistic  truth.  For  the  first  minute  he  did  not  understand 
me,  stared  at  me  for  some  time  without  understanding  what 
money  I  was  talking  about.  It  was  natural  that  he  should  not 
realize  I  was  receiving  a  salary — and  indeed,  why  should  I  ? 
It  is  true  that  he  proceeded  to  assure  me  afterwards  that  he  had 

30 


forgotten,  and  when  he  grasped  the  meaning  of  my  words,  he 
instantly  began  taking  out  fifty  roubles,  but  he  was  flustered 
and  turned  crimson.  Seeing  how  things  stood,  I  got  up  and 
abruptly  announced  that  I  could  not  take  the  money  now,  that 
in  what  I  had  been  told  about  a  salary  they  had  made  a  mistake, 
or  deceived  me  to  induce  me  to  accept  the  situation,  and  that  I 
saw  only  too  well  now,  that  I  did  nothing  to  earn  one,  for  I  had 
no  duties  to  perform.  The  prince  was  alarmed  and  began 
assuring  me  that  I  was  of  the  greatest  use  to  him,  that  I  should 
be  still  more  useful  to  him  in  the  future,  and  that  fifty  roubles 
was  so  little  that  he  should  certainly  add  to  it,  for  he  was  bound 
to  do  so,  and  that  he  had  made  the  arrangement  himself  with 
Tatyana  Pavlovna,  but  had  "  unpardonably  forgottei^  it."  I 
flushed  crimson  and  declared  resolutely  that  it  was  degrading 
for  me  to  receive  a  salary  for  telling  scandalous  stories  of  how 
I  had  followed  two  draggle-tails  to  the  'institutions,'  that 
I  had  not  been  engaged  to  amuse  him  but  to  do  work,  and  that 
if  there  was  no  work  I  must  stop  it,  and  sa  on,  and  so  on.  I 
could  never  have  imagined  that  anyone  could  have  been  so 
scared  as  he  was  by  my  words.  Of  course  it  ended  in  my  ceasing 
to  protest,  and  his  somehow  pressing  the  fifty  roubles  into  my 
hand :  to  this  day  I  recall  with  a  blush  that  I  took  it.  Every- 
thing in  the  world  always  ends  in  meanness,  and  what  was  worst 
of  all,  he  somehow  succeeded  in  almost  proving  to  me  that  I 
had  unmistakably  earned  the  money,  and  I  was  so  stupid  as  to 
believe  it,  and  so  it  was  absolutely  impossible  to  avoid  taking  it. 
"  Cher,  cher  enfant !  "  he  cried,  kissing  and  embracing  me 
(I  must  admit  I  was  on  the  point  of  tears  myself,  goodness  faiows 
why,  though  I  instantly  restrained  myself,  and  even  now  I 
blush  as  I  write  it).  "  My  dear  boy,  you're  like  one  of  the 
family  to  me  now  ;  in  the  course  of  this  month  you've  won  a 
warm  place  in  my  heart !  In  *  society  '  you  get  '  society  '  and 
nothing  else.  Katerina  Nikolaevna  (that  was  his  daughter's 
name)  is  a  magnificent  woman  and  I'm  proud  of  her,  but  she 
often,  my  dear  boy,  very  often,  wounds  me.  And  as  for  these 
girls  {elles  sont  charmantes)  and  their  mothers  who  come  on 
my  birthday,  they  merely  bring  their  embroidery  and  never 
know  how  to  tell  one  anything.  I've  accumulated  over  sixty 
cushions  embroidered  by  them,  all  dogs  and  stags.  I  like  them 
very  much,  btit  with  you  I  feel  as  if  you  were  my  own — ^not  son, 
but  brother,  and  I  particularly  like  it  when  you  argue  against 
me  ;  you're  literary,  you  have  read,  you  cau  be  enthusiastic.  .  .  ." 

31 


"  I  have  read  nothing,  and  I'm  not  literary  at  all.  I  used  to 
read  what  I  came  across,  but  I've  read  nothing  for  two  years 
and  I'm  not  going  to  read." 

"  Why  aren't  you  going  to  ?  ** 

"  I  have  other  objects." 

"  Cher  .  .  .  it's  a  pity  if  at  the  end  of  your  life  you  say,  like 
me,  '  Je  sais  tout,  mats  je  ne  sais  rien  de  bon.^  I  don't  know  in 
the  least  what  I  have  lived  in  this  world  for !  Put  .  .  .  I'm 
so  much  indebted  to  you  .  .  .  and  I  should  like,  in  fact  .  .  ." 

He  suddenly  broke  off,  and  with  an  air  of  fatigue  sank  into 
brooding.  After  any  agitation  (and  he  might  be  overcome  by 
agitation  at  any  minute,  goodness  knows  why)  he  generally 
seemed  for  some  time  to  lose  his  faculties  and  his  power  of  self- 
control,  but  he  soon  recovered,  so  that  it  really  did  not  matter. 
We  sat  still  for  a  few  minutes.  His  very  full  lower  lip  hung 
down  .  .  .  what  surprised  me  most  of  all  was  that  he  had 
suddenly  spoken  of  his  daughter,  and  with  such  openness  too. 
I  put  it  down,  of  course,  to  his  being  upset. 

"  Cher  enfant,  you  don't  mind  my  addressing  j'ou  so  familiarly, 
do  you  ?  "  broke  from  him  suddenly. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  must  confess  that  at  the  very  first  I 
was  rather  offended  by  it  and  felt  iлclined  to  address  you  in  the 
same  way,  but  I  saw  it  was  stupid  because  you  didn't  speak 
like  that  to  humiliate  me." 

But  he  had  forgotten  his  question  and  was  no  longer  listening. 

"  Well,  how's  your  father  ?  "  he  said  suddenly  raising  his 
eyes  and  looking  dreamily  at  me. 

I  winced.  In  the  first  place  he  called  Versilov  my  father, 
which  heЪad  never  permitted  himself  to  do  before,  and  secondly, 
he  began  of  himself  to  speak  of  Versilov,  which  he  had  never 
done  before. 

"He  sits  at  home  without  a  penny  and  is  very  gloomy,"  I 
answered  briefly,  though  1  vas  burning  with  curiosity. 

"  Yes,  about  money.  His  lawsuit  is  being  decided  to-day, 
and  I'm  expecting  Prince  Sorgay  as  soon  as  he  arrives.  He 
promised  to  come  straight  from  the  court  to  me.  Their  whole 
future  turns  on  it.  It's  a  question  of  sixty  or  seventy  thousand. 
Of  course,  I've  always  wished  well  to  Audrey  Petrovitch " 
(Versilov's  name),  "  and  I  believe  he'll  win  the  suit,  and  Prince 
Sergay  has  no  case.     It's  a  point  of  law." 

"  The  case  will  be  decided  to-day  ?  "  I  cried,  amazed.  The 
thought  that  Versilov  had  not  deigned  to  tell  me  even  that 

32 


was  a  great  shock  to  me.  "  Then  he  hasn't  told  my  mother, 
perhaps  not  anyone,"  it  suddenly  struck  me.  "  What  strength 
of  will  !  " 

"  Then  is  Prince  Sokolsky  in  Petersburg  ?  "  was  another  idea 
that  occurred  to  me  immediately. 

"  He  arrived  yesterday.  He  has  come  straight  from  Berlin 
expressly  for  this  day." 

That  too  was  an  extremely  important  piece  of  news  for  me. 
And  he  would  be  here  to-day,  that  man  who  had  given  him  a 
slap  in  the  face  ! 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  "  The  old  prince's  face  suddenly  changed 
again.  "  He'll  preach  religion  as  before  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  maybe 
run  after  little  girls,  unfledged  girls,  again.  He-he  !  There's 
a  very  funny  little  story  about  that  going  about  even  now.  .  .  . 
He-he  !  " 

"  Who  will  preach  ?     Who  will  run  after  little  girls  ?  " 

"  Audrey  Petrovitch !  Would  you  believe  it,  he  used  to 
pester  us  all  in  those  days.  '  Where  are  we  going  ?  '  he  would  say. 
'  What  are  we  thinking  about  ?  '  That  was  about  it,  anyway. 
He  frightened  and  chastened  us.  '  If  you're  religious,'  he'd 
say,  '  why  don't  you  become  a  monk  ?  '  That  was  about  what 
he  expected  Mais  qiielle  idee  !  If  it's  right,  isn't  it  too  severe  ? 
He  was  particularly  fond  of  frightening  me  with  the  Day  of 
Judgment — me  of  all  people  !  " 

"  I've  noticed  nothing  of  all  this,  and  I've  been  living  with 
him  a  month,"  I  answered,  listening  with  impatience.  I  felt 
fearfully  vexed  that  he  hadn't  pulled  himself  together  and  was 
rambling  on  so  incoherently. 

"  It's  only  that  he  doesn't  talk  about  that  now,  but,  believe 
me,  it  was  so.  He's  a  clever  man,  and  undoubtedly  very  learned  ; 
but  is  his  intellect  quite  sound  ?  All  this  happened  to  him  after 
his  three  years  abroad.  And  I  must  own  he  shocked  me  very 
much  and  shocked  every  one.  Cher  enfant,  j'aime  le  bon 
Dieu.  ...  I  believe,  I  believe  as  much  as  I  can,  but  I  really 
was  angry  at  the  time.  Supposing  I  did  put  on  a  frivolous 
manner,  I  did  it  on  purpose  because  I  was  annoyed — and  besides, 
the  basis  of  my  objection  was  as  serious  as  it  has  been  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world.  '  If  there  is  a  higher  Being,'  I  said, 
*  and  He  has  a  personal  existence,  and  isn't  some  sort  of  diffused 
spirit  for  creation,  some  sort  of  fluid  (for  that's  even  more  diffi- 
cult to  understand),  where  does  He  live  ? '  C'etait  bete,  no  doubt, 
my  dear  boy,  but,  you  know,  all  the  arguments  come  to  that. 

33 


Un  domicile  is  an  important  thing.  He  was  awfully  angry. 
He  had  become  a  Catholic  out  there." 

"I've  heard  that  too.     But  it  was  probably  nonsense." 

"  I  assure  you  by  everything  that's  sacred.  You've  only  to 
look  at  him.  .  .  .  But  you  say  he's  changed.  But  in  those 
days  how  he  used  to  worry  us  all !  Would  you  believe  it,  he 
used  to  behave  as  though  he  were  a  saint  and  his  relics  were 
being  displayed.  He  called  us  to  account  for  our  behaviour, 
I  declare  he  did  !  Relics  !  En  voild  un  autre !  It's  all  very 
well  for  a  monk  or  a  hermit,  but  here  was  a  man  going  about  in 
a  dress-coat  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  and  then  he  sets  up  as  a  saint ! 
A  strange  inclination  in  a  man  in  good  society,  and  a  curious 
taste,  I  admit.  I  say  nothing  about  that ;  no  doubt  all  that's 
sacred,  and  anything  may  happen.  .  .  .  Besides,  this  is  all 
Vinconnu,  but  it's  positively  unseemly  for  a  man  in  good 
society.  If  anything  happened  to  me  and  the  offer  were  made 
me  I  swear  I  should  refuse  it.  I  go  and  dine  to-day  at  the  club 
and  then  suddenly  make  a  miraculous  appearance  as  a  saint  I 
Why,  I  should  be  ridiculous.  I  put  all  that  to  him  at  the  time. 
.  .  .  He  used  to  wear  chains." 

I  turned  red  with  anger. 

"  Did  you  see  the  chains  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  see.  tl^em  myself  but  .  .  .'* 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you  that  all  that  is  false,  a  tissue  of  loath- 
some fabrications,  the  calumny  of  enemies,  that  is,  of  one  chief 
and  inhuman  enemy — for  he  has  only  one  enemy — ^your 
daughter  !  " 

The  old  prince  flared  up  in  his  turn. 

"  Mon  cher,  I  beg  and  insist  that  from  this  time  forth  you 
never  couple  with  that  revolting  story  the  name  of  my  daughter." 

I  stood  up.     He  was  beside  himself.     His  chin  was  quivering. 

"  Cette  histoire  infame  f  .  .  .  I  did  not  believe  it,  I  never 
would  believe  it,  but  .  .  .  they  tell  me,  believe  it,  believe  it, 
I  .  .  ." 

At  that  instant  a  footman  came  in  and  announced  visitors. 
I  dropped  into  my  chair  again. 


Two  ladies  came  in.  They  were  both  young  and  unmarried. 
One  was  a  stepdaughter  of  a  cousin  of  the  old  prince's  deceased 
wife  or  something  of  the  sort,  a  protegee  of  his  for  whom  he  had 


34 


already  set  aside  a  dowry,  and  who  (I  mention  it  with  a  view  to 
later  events)  had  money  herself  :  the  other  was  Anna  Andreyevna 
Versilov,  the  daughter  of  Versilov,  three  years  older  than  I. 
She  Uved  with  her  brother  in  the  family  of  Mme.  Fanariotov, 
I  had  only  seen  her  once  before  in  my  life,  for  a  minute  in  the 
street,  though  I  had  had  an  encounter,  also  very  brief,  with 
her  brother  in  Moscow.  (I  may  very  possibly  refer  to  this 
encounter  later — ^if  I  have  space,  that  is,  for  it  is  hardly  worth 
recording.)  Anna  Andreyevna  had  been  from  childhood  a 
special  favourite  of  the  old  prince  (Versilov's  acquaintance 
with  the  prince  dated  from  very  long  ago).  I  was  so  overcome 
by  what  had  just  happened  that  I  did  not  even  stand  up  on 
their  entrance,  though  the  old  prince  rose  to  greet  them.  After- 
wards I  thought  it  would  be  humiliating  to  get  up,  and  I  remained 
where  I  was.  What  overwhelmed  me  most  was  the  prince's 
having  shouted  at  me  like  that  three  minutes  before,  and  I 
did  not  know  whether  to  go  away  or  not.  But  the  old  man,  as 
usual,  had  already  forgotten  everything,  and  was  all  pleasure 
and  animation  at  sight  of  the  young  ladies.  At  the  very  moment 
of  their  entrance  he  hurriedly  whispered  to  me,  with  a  rapid 
change  of  expression  and  a  mysterious  wink  : 

"  Look  at  Ol3anpiada,  watch  her,  watch  her ;  I'll  tell  you 
why  after.  .  .  ." 

I  did  look  at  her  rather  carefully,  but  I  saw  nothing  special 
about  her.  She  was  a  plump,  not  very  tall  young  lady,  with 
exceedingly  red  cheeks.  Her  face  ^as  rather  pleasing,  of  the 
sort  that  materialists  like.  She  had  an  expression  of  kindness, 
perhaps,  but  with  a  touch  of  something  different.  She  could 
not  have  been  very  brilliant  intellectually — that  is,  not  in  the 
higher  sense — for  one  could  see  cunning  in  her  eyes.  She  was  not 
more  than  nineteen.  In  fact,  there  was  nothing  remarkable 
«■bout  her.  In  our  school  we  should  have  called  her  a  cushion. 
(I  only  give  this  minute  description  of  her  because  it  will  be 
useful  later  on.) 

Indeed,  all  I  have  written  hitherto  with,  apparently,  such 
unnecessary  detail  is  all  leading  up  to  what  is  coming  and  is 
necessary  for  it.  It  will  all  come  in  in  its  proper  place  ;  I  cannot 
avoid  it ;  and  if  it  is  dull,  pray  don't  read  it. 

Versilov's  daughter  was  a  very  different  person.  She  was 
tall  and  somewhat  slim,  with  a  long  and  strikingly  pale  face 
and  splendid  black  hair.  She  had  large  dark  eyes  with  an 
earnest  expression,  a  small  mouth,  and  most  crimson  lips.     She 

35 


was  the  first  woman  who  did  not  disgust  me  by  her  horrid  way 
of  walking.  She  was  thin  and  slender,  however.  Her  expression 
was  not  altogether  good-natured,  but  was  dignified.  She  was 
twenty-two.  There  was  hardly  a  trace  of  resemblance  to  Versilov 
in  her  features,  and  yet,  by  some  miracle,  there  was  an  extra- 
ordinary similarity  of  expression.  I  do  not  know  whether  she 
was  pretty  ;  that  is  a  matter  of  taste.  They  were  both  very 
simple  in  their  dress,  so  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  describe  it. 
I  expected  to  be  at  once  insulted  by  some  glance  or  gesture  of 
Mile.  Versilov,  and  I  was  prepared  for  it.  Her  brother  had 
insulted  me  in  Moscow  the  first  time  we  ever  met.  She  could 
hardly  know  me  by  sight,  but  no  doubt  she  had  heard  I  was  in 
attendance  on  the  prince.  Whatever  the  prince  did  or  proposed 
to  do  at  once  aroused  interest  and  was  looked  upon  as  an  event 
in  the  whole  gang  of  his  relations  and  expectant  beneficiaries, 
and  this  was  especially  so  with  his  sudden  partiality  for  me. 
I  knew  for  a  fact  that  the  old  prince  was  particularly  soHcitous 
for  Anna  Andreyevna's  welfare  and  was  on  the  look-out  for  a 
husband  for  her.  But  it  was  more  difficult  to  find  a  suitor  for 
Mile.  Versilov  than  for  the  ladies  who  embroidered  on  canvas. 

And,  lo  and  behold  !  contrary  to  all  my  expectations,  after 
shaking  hands  with  the  prince  and  exchanging  a  few  light, 
conventional  phrases  with  him,  she  looked  at  me  with  marked 
curiosity,  and,  seeing  that  I  too  was  looking  at  her,  bowed  to 
me  with  a  smile.  It  is  true  that  she  had  only  just  come  into 
the  room,  and  so  might  naturally  bow  to  anyone  in  it,  but  her 
smile  was  so  friendly  that  it  was  evidently  premeditated  ;  and, 
I  remember,  it  gave  me  a  particularly  pleasant  feefing. 

"  And  this  .  .  .  this  is  my  dear  young  friend  Arkady  Andreye- 
vitch  Dol  .  .  ."  The  prince  faltered,  noticing  that  she  bowed 
to  me  while  I  remained  sitting — and  he  suddenly  broke  off ; 
perhaps  he  was  confused  at  introducing  me  to  her  (that  is,  in 
reality,  introducing  a  brother  to  a  sister).  The  "  cushion " 
bowed  to  me  too  ;  but  I  suddenly  leapt  up  with  a  clumsy  scrape 
of  my  chair  :  it  was  a  rush  of  simulated  pride,  utterly  senseless, 
all  due  to  vanity. 

"  Excuse  me,  prince,  I  am  not  Arkady  Andreyevitch  but 
Arkady  Makarovitch  !  "  I  rapped  out  abruptly,  utterly  forgetting 
that  I  ought  to  have  bowed  to  the  ladies.  Damnation  take  that 
unseemly  moment ! 

*'  Mais  tiens  I  "  cried  the  prince,  tapping  his  forehead  with 
his  finger. 

36 


"  Where  have  you  studied  ?  "  I  heard  the  stupid  question 
drawled  by  the  "  cushion,"  who  came  straight  up  to  me. 

"  In  Moscow,  at  the  grammar  school." 

"  Ah  !  so  I  have  heard.     Is  the  teaching  good  there  ?  '* 

"  Very  good." 

I  remained  standing  and  answered  like  a  soldier  reporting 
himself. 

The  young  lady's  questions  were  certainly  not  appropriate, 
but  she  did  succeed  in  smoothing  over  my  stupid  outbreak  and 
reUeving  the  embarrassment  of  the  prince,  who  was  meanwhile 
listening  with  an  amused  smile  to  something  funny  Mile. 
Versilov  was  whispering  in  his  ear,  evidently  not  about  me. 
But  I  wondered  why  this  girl,  who  was  a  complete  stranger  to 
me,  should  put  herself  out  to  smooth  over  my  stupid  behaviour 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  At  the  same  time,  it  was  impossible  to 
imagine  that  she  had  addressed  me  quite  casually  ;  it  was 
obviously  premeditated.  She  looked  at  me  with  too  marked  an 
interest ;  it  was  as  though  she  wanted  me,  too,  to  notice  her  as 
much  as  -possible.  I  pondered  over  all  this  later,  and  I  was 
not  mistaken 

"  What,  surely  not  to-day  ? "  the  prince  cried  suddenly, 
jumping  up  from  his  seat. 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know  ?  "  Mile.  Versilov  asked  in  surprise. 
"  Olympic  !  the  prince  didn't  know  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna 
would  be  here  to-day.  Why,  it's  to  see  her  we've  come.  We 
thought  she'd  have  arrived  by  the  morning  train  and  have  been 
here  long  ago.  She  has  just  driven  up  to  the  steps  ;  she's  come 
straight  from  the  station,  and  she  told  us  to  come  up  and  she 
would  be  here  in  a  minute.  .  .  .  And  here  she  is  !  " 

The  side-door  opened  and — tJiat  worruxn  walked  in  ! 

I  knew  her  face  already  from  the  wonderful  portrait  of  her  that 
hung  in  the  prince's  study.  I  had  been  scrutinizing  the  portrait  all 
that  month.  I  spent  three  minutes  in  the  study  in  her  presence, 
and  I  did  not  take  my  eyes  off  her  face  for  a  second.  But  if 
I  had  not  known  her  portrait  and  had  been  asked,  after  those 
three  minutes,  what  she  was  like,  I  could  not  have  answered, 
for  all  was  confusion  within  me. 

I  only  remember  from  those  three  minutes  the  image  of  a  really 
beautiful  woman,  whom  the  prince  was  kissing  and  signing  with 
the  cross,  and  who  looked  quickly  at  once — the  very  minute 
she  came  in — at  me.  I  distinctly  heard  the  prince  muttering 
something,  with  a  little  simper,  about  his  new  secretary  and 

37 


mentioning  my  name,  evidently  pointing  at  me.  Her  face 
seemed  to  contract ;  she  threw  a  vicious  glance  at  me,  and 
smiled  so  insolently  that  I  took  a  sudden  step  forward,  went 
up  to  the  prince,  and  muttered,  trembling  all  over  and  unable  to 
finish  my  words  (I  beheve  my  teeth  were  chattering)  : 

"  From  this  time  I  .  .  .  I've  business  of  my  own.  .  .  .  I'm 
going." 

And  I  turned  and  went  out.  No  one  said  a  word  to  me,  not 
even  the  prince ;  they  all  simply  stared.  The  old  prince  told 
me  afterwards  that  I  turned  so  white  that  he  "  was  simply 
frightened." 

But  there  was  no  need. 


CHAPTER  III 


Indeed  there  was  no  need :  a  higher  consideration  swallowed  up 
all  petty  feelings,  and  one  powerful  emotion  made  up  to  me  for 
everything.  I  went  out  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  As  I  stepped  into 
the  street  I  was  ready  to  sing  aloud.  To  match  my  mood  it 
was  an  exquisite  morning,  sunshine,  people  out  walking,  noise, 
movement,  joyousness,  and  crowds.  Why,  had  not  that  woman 
insulted  me  ?  From  whom  would  I  have  endured  that  look 
and  that  insolent  smile  without  instant  protest  however  stupid 
it  might  be.  I  did  not  mind  about  that.  Note  that  she  had 
come  expressly  to  insult  me  as  soon  as  she  could,  although  she 
had  never  seen  me.  In  her  eyes  I  was  an  "  envoy  from  Versilov," 
and  she  was  convinced  at  that  time,  and  for  long  afterwards, 
that  VersUov  held  her  fate  in  his  hands  and  could  ruin  her  at 
once  if  he  wanted  to,  by  means  of  a  certain  document ;  she 
suspected  that,  anyway.  It  was  a  duel  to  the  death.  And  yet 
— I  was  not  offended  !  It  was  an  insult,  but  I  did  not  feel  it. 
How  should  I  ?  I  was  positively  glad  of  it ;  though  I  had 
come  here  to  hate  her  I  felt  I  was  beginning  to  love  her. 

I  don't  know  whether  the  spider  perhaps  does  not  hate  the 
fly  he  has  marked  and  is  snaring.  Dear  little  fly  !  It  seems  to 
me  that  the  victim  is  loved,  or  at  least  may  be  loved-  Here  I 
love  my  enemy  ;  I  am  delighted,  for  instance,  that  she  is  so 
beautiful.  I  am  delighted,  madam,  that  you  are  so  haughty 
and  majestic.  If  you  were  meeker  it  would  not  be  so  delightfid. 
You  have  spat  on  me — and  I  am  triumphant.    И  you  were 

38 


literally  to  spit  in  my  face  I  should  really  not  be  angry  because 
you — are  my  victim  ;  mirie  and  not  Ate.  How  fascinating  was 
that  idea  !  Yes,  the  secret  consciousness  of  power  is  more 
insupportably  delightful  than  open  domination,  li  I  were  a 
millionaire  I  believe  I  should  take  pleasure  in  going  about  in 
the  oldest  clothes  and  being  taken  for  a  destitute  man,  almost  a 
beggar,  being  jostled  and  despised.  The  consciousness  of  the 
truth  would  be  enough  for  me. 

That  is  how  I  should  interpret  my  thoughts  and  happiness, 
and  much  of  what  I  was  feeUng  that  day.  I  will  only  add  that 
in  what  I  have  just  written  there  is  too  much  levity  ;  in  reahty 
my  feeling  was  deeper  and  more  modest.  Perhaps  even  now  I 
am  more  modest  in  myself  than  in  my  words  and  deeds — God 
grant  it  may  be  so  ! 

Perhaps  I  have  done  amiss  in  sitting  down  to  write  at  all. 
Infinitely  more  remains  hidden  within  than  comes  out  in  words. 
Your  thought,  even  if  it  is  an  evil  one,  is  always  deeper  wlule 
it  is  in  your  mind ;  it  becomes  more  absurd  and  dishonourable 
when  it  is  put  into  words.  Versilov  once  said  to  me  that  the 
opposite  was  true  only  with  horrid  people,  they  simply  tell  lies, 
it  is  easy  for  them  ;  but  I  am  trying  to  write  the  whole  truth, 
and  that's  fearfully  difficult ! 


On  that  19th  of  September  I  took  one  other  "  step." 
For  the  first  time  since  I  arrived  I  had  money  in  my  pocket, 
for  the  sixty  roubles  I  had  saved  up  in  two  years  I  had  given 
to  my  mother,  as  I  mentioned  before.  But,  a  few  days  before, 
I  had  determined  that  on  the  day  I  received  my  salary  I  would 
make  an  "  experiment  "  of  which  I  had  long  been  dreaming. 
The  day  before  I  had  cut  out  of  the  paper  an  address  ;  it  was 
an  advertisement  that  on  the  19th  of  September  at  twelve 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  such-and-such  a  street,  at  number 
so-and-so,  there  would  be  a  sale  by  the  local  police  authority 
of  the  effects  of  Mme.  Lebrecht,  and  that  the  catalogue, 
valuation,  and  property  for  sale  could  be  inspected  on  the  day 
of  the  auction,  and  so  on. 

It  was  just  past  one,  I  hurried  to  the  address  on  foot.  I 
had  not  taken  a  cab  for  more  than  two  years — I  had  taken  a 
vow  not  to  (or  I  should  never  have  saved  up  my  sixty  roubles). 
I  had  never  been  to  an  auction,  I  had  never  allowed  myself  this 
indulgence.    And  though  my  present  step  was  only  an  experiment 

39 


yet  I  had  made  up  my  mind  not  to  take  even  that  step  till  I  had 
left  the  grammar  school,  when  I  should  break  off  with  everything, 
hide  myself  in  my  shell,  and  become  perfectly  free.  It  is  true 
that  I  was  far  from  being  in  my  shell  and  far  from  being  free 
yet,  but  then  I  was  only  taking  this  step  by  way  of  an  experi- 
ment— simply  to  look  into  it,  as  it  were  to  indulge  a  fancy,  and 
after  that  not  to  гесш:  to  it  perhaps  for  a  long  while,  till  the 
time  of  beginning  seriously.  For  every  one  else  this  was  only  a 
stupid  little  auction,  but  for  me  it  was  the  first  plank  in  the 
ship  in  which  a  Columbus  would  set  out  to  discover  his  America. 
That  was  my  feeling  then. 

When  I  arrived  I  went  into  the  furthest  comer  of  the  yard  of 
the  house  mentioned  in  the  advertisement,  and  entered  Mme. 
Lebrecht's  fiat,  which  consisted  of  an  entry  and  four  small  low- 
pitched  rooms.  In  the  first  room  there  was  a  crowd  of  about 
thirty  persons,  half  of  them  people  who  had  come  to  bargain, 
while  the  rest,  judging  from  their  appearance,  were  either 
inquisitive  outsiders,  or  connoisseurs,  or  representatives  of  Mme. 
Lebrecht.  There  were  merchants  and  Jews  gloating  over  the 
objects  made  of  gold,  and  a  few  people  of  the  well-dressed 
class.  The  very  faces  of  some  of  these  gentlemen  remain 
stamped  in  my  memory.  In  the  doorway  leading  to  the  room 
on  the  right  there  was  placed  a  table  so  that  it  was  impossible 
to  pass  ;  on  it  lay  the  things  catalogued  for  sale.  There  was 
another  room  on  the  left,  but  the  door  into  it  was  closed,  though 
it  was  continually  being  opened  a  little  way,  and  some  one  could 
be  seen  peeping  through  the  crack,  no  doubt  some  one  of  the 
numerous  family  of  Mme.  Lebrecht,  who  must  have  been  feeling 
very  much  ashamed  at  the  time.  At  the  table  between  the 
doors,  facing  the  public,  sat  the  warrant  officer,  to  judge  by  his 
badge,  presiding  over  the  sale.  I  found  the  auction  half  over ; 
I  squeezed  my  way  up  to  the  table  as  soon  as  I  went  in.  Some 
bronze  candlesticks  were  being  sold.  I  began  looking  at  the 
things. 

I  looked  at  the  things  and  wondered  what  I  could  buy,  and 
what  I  could  do  with  bronze  candlesticks,  and  whether  my 
object  would  be  attained,  and  how  the  thing  would  be  done, 
and  whether  my  project  would  be  successful,  and  whether  my 
project  were  not  childish.  All  this  I  wondered  as  I  waited.  It 
was  like  the  sensation  one  has  at  the  gambling  table  at  the 
moment  before  one  has  put  down  a  card,  though  one  has  come 
to  do  so,  feeling,  "  if  I  like  I'll  put  it  down,  if  I  don't  I'll  go 

40 


away — I'm  free  to  choose  !  "  One's  heart  does  not  begin  to 
throb  at  that  point,  but  there  is  a  faint  thrill  and  flutter  in  it — 
a  sensation  not  without  charm.  But  indecision  soon  begins  to 
weigh  painfully  upon  one  :  one's  eyes  grow  dizzy,  one  stretches 
out  one's  hand,  picks  up  a  card,  but  mechanically,  almost 
against  one's  will,  as  though  some  one  else  were  directing  one's 
hand.  At  last  one  has  decided  and  thrown  down  the  card — 
then  the  feeling  is  quite  different — immense.  I  am  not  writing 
about  the  auction  ;  I  am  writing  about  myself  ;  who  else  would 
feel  his  heart  throbbing  at  an  auction  ? 

Some  were  excited,  some  were  waiting  in  silence,  some  had 
bought  things  and  were  regretting  it.  I  felt  no  sympathy  with 
a  gentleman  who,  misunderstanding  what  was  said,  bought  an 
electro-plated  milk-jug  in  mistake  for  a  silver  one  for  five  roubles 
instead  of  two  ;  in  fact  it  amused  me  very  much.  The  warrant 
officer  passed  rapidly  from  one  class  of  objects  to  another  : 
after  the  candlesticks,  displayed  earrings,  after  earrings  an 
embroidered  leather  cushion,  then  a  money-box — probably  for 
the  sake  of  variety,  or  to  meet  the  wishes  of  the  purchasers.  I 
could  not  remain  passive  even  for  ten  minutes.  I  went  up  to 
the  cushion,  and  afterwards  to  the  cash-box,  but  at  the  critical 
moment  my  tongue  failed  me  :  these  objects  seemed  to  me 
quite  out  of  the  question.  At  last  I  saw  an  album  in  the  warrant 
officer's  hand. 

"  A  family  album  in  real  morocco,  second-hand,  with  sketches 
in  water-colour  and  crayon,  in  a  carved  ivory  case  with  silver 
clasps — priced  two  roubles  !  " 

I  went  up  :  it  looked  an  elegant  article,  but  the  carving  was 
damaged  in  one  place.  I  was  the  only  person  who  went  up  to 
look  at  it,  all  were  silent ;  there  was  no  bidding  for  it.  I  might 
have  imdone  the  clasps  and  taken  the  album  out  of  the  case  to 
look  at  it,  but  I  did  not  make  use  of  my  privilege,  and  only 
waved  a  trembling  hand  as  though  to  say  "  never  mind." 

'*  Two  roubles,  five  kopecks,"  I  said.  I  believe  my  teeth 
were  chattering  again. 

The  album  was  knocked  down  to  me.  I  at  once  took  out  the 
money,  paid  for  it,  snatched  up  the  album,  and  went  into  a 
com&r  of  the  room.  There  I  took  it  out  of  its  case,  and  began 
looking  through  it  with  feverish  haste — it  was  the  most  trumpery 
thing  possible — a  little  album  of  the  size  of  a  piece  of  notepaper, 
with  rubbed  gilt  edges,  exactly  like  the  albums  girls  used  to 
keep  in  former  days  when  they  left  school.     There  were  crayon 

41 


and  colour  sketches  of  temples  on  mountain-sides,  Cupids,  a 
lake  with  floating  swans  ;  there  were  verses  : 

On  a  far  journey  I  am  starting. 
From  Moscow  I  am  departing. 
From  my  dear  ones  I  am  parting. 
And  ърИЛ  post-horses  flying  South. 

They  are  enshrined  in  my  memory  ! 

I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  had  made  a  mess  of  it ;  if  there 
ever  was  anything  no  one  could  possibly  want  it  was  this. 

"  Never  mind,"  I  decided,  "  one's  bound  to  lose  the  first 
card  ;  it's  a  good  omen,  in  fact." 

I  felt  thoroughly  light-hearted. 

"  Ach,  I'm  too  late  ;  is  it  yours  ?  You  have  bought  it  ?  " 
I  suddenly  heard  beside  me  the  voice  of  a  well-dressed,  pre- 
sentable-looking gentleman  in  a  blue  coat.  He  had  come  in 
late. 

"  I  am  too  late.    Ach,  what  a  pity  !     How  much  was  it  1  " 

"  Two  roubles,  five  kopecks," 

"  Ach,  what  a  pity  !     Would  you  give  it  up  ?  " 

"  Come  outside,"  I  whispered  to  him,  in  a  tremor. 

We  went  out  on  the  staircase. 

"  I'U  let  you  have  it  for  ten  roubles,"  I  said,  feeling  a  shiver 
run  down  my  back. 

"  Ten  roubles  !     Upon  my  word  !  " 

*'  As  you  Ике." 

He  stared  at  me  open-eyed.  I  was  well  dressed,  not  in  the 
least  like  a  Jew  or  a  second-hand  dealer. 

"  Mercy  on  us — why  it's  a  wretched  old  album,  what  use  is 
it  to  anyone  ?  The  case  isn't  worth  anything  certainly.  You 
certainly  won't  sell  it  to  anyone." 

"  I  see  you  will  buy  it." 

"  But  that's  for  a  special  reason.  I  only  found  out  yesterday. 
I'm  the  only  one  who  would.  Upon  my  word,  what  are  you 
thiilking  about !  " 

"  I  ought  to  have  asked  twenty-five  roubles,  but  as  there  was, 
after  all,  a  risk  you  might  draw  back.  I  only  asked  for  ten  to 
make  smre  of  it.     I  won't  take  a  farthing  less." 

I  turned  and  walked  away. 

"  Well,  take  fovur  roubles,"  he  said,  overtaking  me  in  the 
yard,  "  come,  five  !  " 

I  strode  on  without  speaking. 

42 


"  WeU,  take  it  then  !  " 

He  took  out  ten  roubles.    I  gave  him  the  album. 

"  But  you  must  own  it's  not  honest !  Two  roubles — and  then 
ten,  eh  ?  " 

"  Why  not  honest  ?     It's  a  question  of  market," 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  market  1  "    He  grew  angry. 

"  When  there's  a  demand  one  has  a  market — if  you  hadn't 
asked  for  it  I  shouldn't  have  sold  it  for  forty  kopecks." 

Though  I  was  serious  and  didn't  burst  out  laughing  I  was 
laughing  inwardly — not  from  delight — I  don't  know  why  myself, 
I  was  almost  breathless. 

"  Listen,"  I  muttered,  utterly  unable  to  restrain  myself,  but 
speaking  in  a  friendly  way  and  feeling  quite  fond  of  him.  ''  Listen, 
when  as  a  young  man  the  late  James  Rothschild,  the  Parisian 
one,  who  left  seventeen  hundred  million  francs  (he  nodded), 
heard  of  the  murder  of  the  Due  de  Bern  some  hours  before 
anybody  else  he  sent  the  news  to  the  proper  quarter,  and  by 
that  one  stroke  in  an  instant  made  several  millions — ^that's  how 
people  get  on  !  " 

"  So  you're  a  Rothscluld,  are  you  ?  "  he  cried  as  though 
indignant  with  me  for  being  such  a  fool. 

I  walked  quickly  out  of  the  house.  One  step,  and  I  had 
made  seven  roubles  ninety-five  kopecks.  It  was  a  senseless 
step,  a  piece  of  child's  play  I  admit,  but  it  chimed  in  with  my 
theories,  and  I  could  not  help  being  deeply  stirred  by  it.  But 
it  is  no  good  describing  one's  feelings.  My  ten  roubles  were  in 
my  waistcoat  pocket,  I  thrust  in  two  fingers  to  feel  it — and 
walked  along  without  taking  my  hand  out.  After  walking  a 
himdred  yards  along  the  street  I  took  the  note  out  to  look  at  it, 
I  looked  at  it  and  felt  like  kissing  it.  A  carriage  rumbled  up  to 
the  steps  of  a  house.  The  house  porter  opened  the  door  and  a 
lady  came  out  to  get  into  the  carriage.  She  ^v^as  young,  hand- 
some and  wealthy-looking,  gorgeously  dressed  in  silk  and  velvet, 
with  a  train  more  than  two  yards  long.  Suddenly  a  pretty  little 
portfolio  dropped  out  of  her  hand  and  fell  on  the  ground  ;  she 
got  into  the  carriage.  The  footman  stooped  down  to  pick  the 
thing  up,  but  I  flew  up  quickly,  picked  it  up  and  handed  it  to 
the  lady,  taking  off  my  hat.  (The  hat  was  a  silk  one,  I  was 
suitably  dressed  for  a  young  man.)  With  a  very  pleasant 
smile,  though  with  an  air  of  reserve,  the  lady  said  to  me  : 
"  Merci,  M'sieu  !  "  The  carriage  rolled  away.  I  kissed  the 
ten -rouble  note. 

43 


That  same  day  I  was  to  go  and  see  Efim  Zvyerev,  one  of  my 
old  schoolfellows  at  the  grammar  school,  who  had  gone  to  a 
special  college  in  Petersburg.  He  is  not  worth  describing,  and 
I  was  not  on  particularly  friendly  terms  with  him  ;  but  I  looked 
him  up  in  Petersburg.  He  might  (through  various  circumstances 
which  again  are  not  worth  relating)  be  able  to  give  me  the 
address  of  a  man  called  Kraft,  whom  it  was  very  important  for 
me  to  see  as  soon  as  he  returned  from  Vilna,  Efim  was  expecting 
him  that  day  or  the  next,  as  he  had  let  me  know  two  days 
before.  I  had  to  go  to  the  Petersburg  Side,  but  I  did  not  feel 
tired. 

I  found  Efim  (who  was  also  nineteen)  in  the  yard  of  his  aunt's 
house,  where  he  was  staying  for  the  time.  He  had  just  had 
dinner  and  was  walking  about  the  yard  on  stilts.  He  told  me 
at  once  that  Kraft  had  arrived  the  day  before,  and  was  staying 
at  his  old  lodgings  close  by,  and  that  he  was  anxious  to  see  me 
as  soon  as  possible,  as  he  had  something  important  to  tell  me. 

"  He's  going  off  somewhere  again,"  added  Efim. 

As  in  the  present  circumstances  it  was  of  great  importance  to 
see  Kraft  I  asked  Efim  to  take  me  round  at  once  to  his  lodging, 
which  it  appeared  was  in  a  back  street  only  a  few  steps  away. 
But  Efim  told  me  that  he  had  met  him  an  hour  ago  and  that  he 
was  on  his  way  to  Dergatchev's. 

"  But  come  along  to  Dergatchev's.  Why  do  you  always  cry 
off  ?     Are  you  afraid  ?  " 

Kraft  might  as  a  fact  stay  on  at  Dergatchev's,  and  in  that 
case  where  could  I  wait  for  him  ?  I  was  not  afraid  of  going  to 
Dergatchev's,  but  I  did  not  want  to  go  to  his  house,  though  Efim 
had  tried  to  get  me  there  three  times  already.  And  on  each 
occasion  had  asked  "  Are  you  afraid  ?  "  with  a  very  nasty  smile 
at  my  expense.  It  was  not  a  case  of  fear  I  must  state  at  once  ; 
if  I  was  afraid  it  was  of  something  quite  different.  This  time  T 
made  up  my  mind  to  go.  Dergatchev's,  too,  was  only  a  few 
steps  away.  On  the  way  I  asked  Efim  if  he  still  meant  to  run 
away  to  America. 

"  Maybe  I  shall  wait  a  bit,"  he  answered  with  a  faint  smile. 

I  was  not  particularly  fond  of  him  ;  in  fact  I  did  not  like  him 
at  all.  He  had  fair  hair,  and  a  full  face  of  an  excessive  fairness, 
an  almost  unseemly  childish  fairness,  yet  he  was  taller  than  I 

44 


was,  but  he  would  never  have  been  taken  for  more  than  seven- 
teen.    I  had  nothmg  to  talk  to  him  about. 

"  What's  going  on  there  ?  Is  there  always  a  crowd  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  But  why  are  you  always  so  frightened  ?  "  he  laughed  again. 

"  Go  to  hell !  "  I  said,  getting  angry. 

"  There  won't  be  a  crowd  at  all.  Only  friends  come,  and 
they're  all  his  own  set.     Don't  worry  yourself." 

"  But  what  the  devil  is  it  to  me  whether  they're  his  set  or 
not !     I'm  not  one  of  his  set.     How  can  they  be  sure  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  bringing  you  and  that's  enough.  They've  heard  of 
you  already.     Kraft  can  answer  for  you,  too." 

"  I  say,  will  Vassin  be  there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  If  he  is,  give  me  a  poke  and  point  him  out  as  soon  as  we  go 
in.     As  soon  as  we  go  in.     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

I  had  heard  a  good  deal  about  Vassin  already,  and  had  long 
been  interested  in  him. 

Dergatchev  lived  in  a  little  lodge  in  the  courtyard  of  a  wooden 
house  belonging  to  a  merchant's  wife,  but  he  occupied  the 
whole  of  it.  There  were  only  three  living  rooms.  All  the  four 
windows  had  the  blinds  drawn  down.  He  was  a  mechanical 
engineer,  and  did  work  in  Petersburg.  I  had  heard  casually 
that  he  had  got  a  good  private  berth  in  the  provinces,  and  that 
he  was  just  going  away  to  it. 

As  soon  as  we  stepped  into  the  tiny  entry  we  heard  voices. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  heated  argument  and  some  one  shouted  : 

"  Quae  medicamenta  non  sanant,  ferrum  sanat,  quae  ferrum 
non  sanat — ignis  sanat !  " 

I  certainly  was  in  some  uneasiness.  I  was,  of  course,  not 
accustomed  to  society  of  any  kind.  At  school  I  had  been  on 
familiar  terms  with  my  schoolfellows,  but  I  was  scarcely  friends 
with  anyone  ;  I  made  a  little  comer  for  myself  and  lived  in  it. 
But  this  was  not  what  disturbed  me.  In  any  case  I  vowed  not 
to  let  myself  be  dra\NTi  into  argument  and  to  say  nothing  beyond 
what  was  necessary,  so  that  no  one  could  draw  any  conclusions 
about  me  ;   above  all — to  avoid  argument. 

In  the  room,  which  was  really  too  small,  there  were  seven 
men ;  counting  the  ladies,  ten  persons.  Dergatchev  was  five- 
and-twenty,  and  was  married.  His  wife  had  a  sister  and  another 
female  relation,  who  lived  with  them.  The  room  was  furnished 
after  a  lashion,  sufficiently  though,  and  was  even  tidy.     There 

45 


was  a  lithographed  portrait  on  the  wall,  but  a  very  cheap  one  ; 
in  the  comer  there  was  an  ikon  without  a  setting,  but  with  a 
lamp  burning  before  it. 

Dergatchev  came  up  to  me,  shook  hands  and  asked  me  to  sit 
down. 

"  Sit  down  ;  they're  all  our  own  set  here." 

"  You're  very  welcome,"  a  rather  nice-looking,  modestly 
dressed  young  woman  added  immediately,  and  making  me  a 
slight  bow  she  at  once  went  out  of  the  room.  This  was  his  wife, 
and  she,  too,  seemed  to  have  been  taking  part  in  the  discussion, 
and  went  away  to  nurse  the  baby.  But  there  were  two  other 
ladies  left  in  the  room  ;  one  very  short  girl  of  about  twenty, 
weiring  a  black  dress,  also  rather  nice-looking,  and  the  other  a 
thin,  keen-eyed  lady  of  thirty.  They  sat  listening  eagerly,  but 
not  taking  part  in  the  conversation.  All  the  men  were  standing 
except  Kraft,  Vassin  and  me  Efim  pointed  them  out  to  me 
at  once,  for  I  had  never  seen  Kraft  before,  either.  I  got  up  and 
went  up  to  make  their  acquaintance.  Kraft's  face  I  shall  never 
forget.  There  was  no  particular  beauty  about  it,  but  a  positive 
excess  of  mildness  and  delicacy,  though  personal  dignity  was 
conspicuous  in  everything  about  him.  He  was  twenty-six, 
rather  thin,  above  medium  height,  fair  haired,  with  an  earnest 
but  soft  face ;  there  was  a  peculiar  gentleness  about  his  whole 
personality.  And  yet  if  I  were  asked  I  would  not  have  changed 
my  own,  possibly  very  commonplace,  countenance  for  his, 
which  struck  me  as  so  attractive.  There  was  something  in  his 
face  I  should  not  have  cared  to  have  in  mine,  too  marked  a  calm 
(in  a  moral  sense)  and  something  like  a  secret,  unconscious 
pride.  But  I  probably  could  not  have  actually  formed  this 
judgment  at  the  time.  It  seems  so  to  me  now,  in  the  light  of 
later  events. 

"  I'm  very  glad  you've  come,"  said  Kraft.  "  I  have  a  letter 
which  concerns  you.     We'll  stay  here  a  little  and  then  go  home." 

Dergatchev  was  a  strong,  broad-shouldered,  dark-complexioned 
man  of  medium  height,  with  a  big  beard.  His  eyes  showed 
acuteness,  habitual  reserve,  and  a  certain  incessant  watchfulness  ; 
though  he  was  for  the  most  part  silent,  he  evidently  controlled 
the  conversation.  Vassin's  face  did  not  impress  me  much, 
though  I  had  heard  of  him  as  extraordinarily  intelligent :  he 
had  fair  hair,  large  light  grey  eyes,  and  a  very  open  face.  But 
at  the  same  time  there  was  something,  as  it  were,  too  hard  in  it ; 
one  had  a  presentiment  that  he  would  not  be  commimicative, 

46 


but  he  looked  undeniably  clever,  cleverer  than  Dergatchev,  of 
a  more  profound  intelleot — cleverer  than  anyone  in  the  room. 
But  perhaps  I  am  exaggerating.  Of  the  other  young  men  I  only 
recall  two  ;  one  a  tall,  dark  man  of  twenty-seven,  with  black 
whiskers,  who  talked  a  great  deal,  a  teacher  or  something  of  the 
sort ;  the  other  was  a  fellow  of  my  own  age,  with  good  lines  in 
his  face,  wearing  a  Russian  tunic  without  sleeves.  He  was 
silent,  and  listened  attentively.  He  turned  out  afterwards  to 
be  a  peasant. 

"  No,  that's  not  the  way  to  put  it,"  the  black-whiskered 
teacher  began,  obviously  continuing  the  previous  discussion. 
He  talked  more  than  anyone  in  the  room. 

"  I'm  not  talking  of  mathematical  proofs,  but  that  idea  which 
I  am  prepared  to  believe  without  mathematical  proof  ..." 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Tihomirov,"  Dergatchev  interrupted  loudly, 
"  the  new-comers  don't  understand.  Ypu  see,"  he  suddenly 
addressed  himself  to  me  alone  (and  I  confess  if  he  intended 
to  put  me  as  a  novice  through  an  examination  or  to  make 
me  speak,  it  was  adroitly  done  on  his  part ;  I  felt  it  and 
prepared  myself)  "  it's  all  our  friend  Kraft,  who  is  well  known 
to  us  all  for  his  character  and  the  solidity  of  his  convictions. 
From  a  very  ordinary  fact  he  has  deduced  a  very  extraordinary 
conviction  that  has  surprised  us  all.  He  has  deduced  that  the 
Russians  are  a  second-rate  people  .  .  ." 

"  Third-rate,"  shouted  some  one. 

"  A  second-rate  people  destined  to  serve  as  the  raw  material 
for  a  nobler  race,  and  not  to  play  an  independent  part  in  the 
history  of  humanity.  In  view  of  this  theory  of  his,  which  is 
perhaps  correct,  Kraft  has  come  to  the  conclusion  that 'the 
activity  of  every  Russian  must  in  the  future  be  paralysed  by  this 
idea,  that  all,  so  to  speak,  will  fold  their  hands  and  .  .  ." 

"  Excuse  me,  Dergatchev,  that's  not  the  way  to  put  it," 
Tihomirov  interrupted  impatiently  again  (Dergatchev  at  once 
gave  way),  "considering  that  Kraft  has  made  a  serious  study  of 
the  subject,  has  made  on  a  physiological  basis  deductions  which 
he  regards  as  mathematically  proved,  and  has  spent  perhaps 
two  years  on  his  idea  (which  I  should  be  prepared  a  priori  to 
accept  with  equanimity),  considering  all  this,  that  is  considering 
Kraft's  excitement  and  earnestness,  the  caee  must  be  considered 
as  a  phenomenon.  All  this  leads  up  to  a  question  which  Kraft 
cannot  understand,  and  that's  what  we  must  attend  to — I  mean, 
Kraft's  not  understanding  it,  for  that's  the  phenomenon.     We 

47 


must  decide  whether  this  phenomenon  belongs  to  the  domain 
of  pathology  as  a  solitary  instance,  or  whether  it  is  an  occurrence 
which  may  be  normally  repeated  in  others  ;  that's  what  is  of 
interest  for  the  common  cause.  I  believe  Kraft  about  Russia, 
and  I  will  even  say  that  I  am  glad  of  it,  perhaps  ;  if  this  idea 
were  assimilated  by  all  it  would  free  many  from  patriotic  preju- 
dice and  imtie  their  hands  ..." 

"  I  am  not  influenced  by  patriotism,"  said  Kraft,  speaking  with 
a  certain  stiffness.     All  this  debate  seemed  distasteful  to  him. 

"  Whether  patriotism  or  not  we  need  not  consider,"  observed 
Vassin,  who  had  been  very  silent. 

"  But  how,  tell  me,  please,  could  Kraft's  deduction  weaken  the 
impulse  to  the  cause  of  humanity,"  shouted  the  teacher.  (He 
was  the  only  one  shouting.  АД  the  others  spoke  in  a  low  voice.) 
"Let  Russia  be  condemned  to  second -rateness,  but  we  can  still 
work  and  not  for  Russia  alone.  And,  what's  more,  how  can 
Kraft  be  a  patriot  if  he  has  ceased  to  believe  in  Russia  ?  " 

"  Besides  being  a  German,"  a  voice  interrupted  again. 

"  I  am  a  Russian,"  said  Kraft. 

"  That's  a  question  that  has  no  direct  bearing  on  the  subject," 
observed  Dergatchev  to  the  speaker  who  had  interrupted. 

"  Take  a  wider  view  of  your  idea,"  cried  Tihomirov,  heeding 
nothing.  "  If  Russia  is  only  the  material  for  nobler  races  why 
shouldn't  she  serve  as  such  material  ?  It's  a  sufficiently  attrac- 
tive part  for  her  to  play.  Why  not  accept  the  idea  calmly,  con- 
sidering how  it  enlarges  the  task  ?  Humanity  is  on  the  eve  of 
its  regeneration,  which  is  already  beginning.  None  but  the 
blind  deny  the  task  before  us.  Let  Russia  alone,  if  you've  lost 
faith  in  her,  and  work  for  the  future,  for  the  future  imknown 
people  that  will  be  formed  of  all  humanity  without  distinction 
of  race.  Russia  would  perish  some  time,  anjrway ;  even  the  most 
gifted  peoples  exist  for  fifteen  hundred  or  at  the  most  two  thou- 
sand years.  Isn't  it  all  the  same  whether  it's  two  thousand  or 
two  hundred  1  The  Romans  did  not  last  fifteen  hundred  years 
as  a  vital  force,  they  too  have  turned  into  material.  They  ceased 
to  exist  long  ago,  but  they've  left  an  idea,  and  it  has  become 
an  element  in  the  future  of  mankind.  How  can  one  tell  a  man 
there's  nothing  to  be  done  1  I  can't  conceive  of  a  position  in 
which  there  ever  could  be  nothing  to  do  !  Work  for  humanity 
and  don't  trouble  about  the  rest.  There's  so  much  to  do  that 
life  isn't  long  enough  if  you  look  into  it  more  closely." 

"  One  must  live  in  harmony  with  the  laws  of  nature  and 

48 


truth,"  Mme.  Dergatchev  observed  from  the  doorway.  The 
door  was  slightly  ajar  and  one  could  see  that  she  was  standing 
there,  listening  eagerly,  with  the  baby  at  her  breast  which  was 
covered. 

Kraft  listened  with  a  faint  smile  and  brought  out  at  last 
with  a  somewhat  harassed  face,  but  with  earnest  sincerity  : 

"  I  don't  understand  how,  if  one  is  under  the  influence  of 
some  over-mastering  idea  which  completely  dominates  one's 
mind  and  one's  heart,  one  can  live  for  something  else  which  is 
outside  that  idea." 

"  But  if  it  is  logically,  mathematically  proved  to  you  that  your 
deduction  is  erroneous — that  your  whole  idea  is  erroneous,  that 
you  have  not  the  slightest  right  to  exclude  yourself  from  working 
for  the  welfare  of  humanity  simply  because  Russia  is  predestined 
to  a  second-rate  part,  if  it  is  pointed  out  to  you,  that  in  place  of 
your  narrow  horizon  infinity  Ues  open  before  you,  that  instead 
of  your  narrow  idea  of  patriotism  ..." 

"  Ah  '  "  Kraft  waved  his  hand  gently,  "  I've  told  you  there 
is  no  question  of  patriotism." 

"  There  is  evidently  a  misunderstanding,"  Vassin  interposed 
suddenly,  "  the  mistake  arises  from  the  fact  that  Kraft's  con- 
clusion is  not  a  mere  logical  theory  but,  so  to  say,  a  theory  that 
has  been  transmuted  into  a  feeling.  АД  natures  are  not  aUke  ; 
in  some  men  a  logical  deduction  is  sometimes  transmuted  into  a 
very  powerful  emotion  which  takes  possession  of  the  whole  being, 
and  is  sometimes  very  difficult  to  dislodge  or  alter.  To  cure  such 
a  man  the  feeling  itself  must  be  changed,  which  is  only  possible 
by  replacing  it  by  another,  equally  powerful  one.  That's  always 
difficult,  and  in  many  cases  impossible." 

"  That's  a  mistake,"  roared  the  argumentative  teacher,  "  a 
logical  proof  of  itself  will  dissipate  prejudices.  A  rational  con- 
viction will  give  rise  to  feeling,  too.  Thought  arises  from  feeling 
and  dominating  a  man  in  its  turn  formulates  new  feeling." 

"  People  are  very  different.  Some  change  their  feelings 
readily,  while  for  others  it's  hard  to  do  so,"  responded  Vassin, 
as  though  disinclined  to  continue  the  argument ;  but  I  was 
delighted  by  his  idea. 

"  That's  perfectly  true  what  you  say,"  I  said,  turning  to  him, 
all  at  once  breaking  the  ice  and  suddenly  beginning  to  speak; 
"  that  to  change  a  feeling  one  must  replace  it  by  another.  Four 
years  ago  a  general  in  Moscow  ...  I  didn't  know  him,  you  see, 
but  .  .  .  Perhaps  he  couldn't  have  inspired  respect  of  himself 

49 


.  .  .  And  the  fact  itself  may  seem  irrational  but  .  .  .  But  he 
had  lost  a  child,  that's  to  say  two  little  girls  who  had  died  one 
after  another  of  scarlatina.  And  he  was  utterly  crushed,  and  did 
nothing  but  grieve,  so  that  one  couldn't  bear  to  go  and  look  at 
him,  and  he  ended  by  dying  scarcely  six  months  later.  It's  a 
fact  that  he  died  of  it !  What  could  have  saved  him  ?  The 
answer  is — a  feeling  of  equal  strength.  One  would  have  had  to 
dig  those  two  little  girls  out  of  the  grave  and  give  them  back  to 
bi"i — that  would  .have  been  the  only  thing,  I  mean  in  that 
way.  And  he  died.  Yet  one  might  have  presented  him  with 
excellent  reflections  :  that  life  is  transitory,  that  all  are  mortal ; 
one  might  have  produced  statistics  to  show  how  many  children 
do  die  of  scarlatina  ...  he  was  on  the  retired  list.  ..." 

I  stopped,  out  of  breath,  and  looked  rovmd. 

"  That's  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  some  one. 

"  The  instance  you  have  quoted,  though  it's  not  quite  in  the 
same  category,  is  very  similar  and  illustrates  tKe  subject,"  said 
Vassin,  turning  to  me. 


Here  I  must  confess  why  I  was  so  delighted  with  what  Vassin 
had  said  about  the  "  idea  transmuted  into  feeling,"  and  at  the 
same  time  I  mvist  confess  to  a  fiendish  disgrace.  Yes,  I  was 
afraid  to  go  to  Dergatchev's,  though  not  for  the  reason  Efim 
imagined.  I  dreaded  going  because  I  had  been  afraid  of  them 
even  before  I  left  Moscow.  I  knew  that  they  (or  some  of  their 
sort,  it's  all  the  same)  were  great  in  argument  and  would  perhaps 
shatter  "  my  idea."  I  was  firmly  resolved  in  myself  that  I 
wouldn't  give  away  my  idea  or  say  a  word  to  them  about  it ; 
but  they  (or  again  some  of  their  sort)  might  easily  say  something 
to  me  which  would  destroy  my  faith  in  my  "  idea,"  even  though 
I  might  not  utter  a  syllable  about  it.  There  were  questions 
connected  with  my  "  idea  "  which  I  had  not  settled,  but  I  did 
not  want  anyone  to  settle  them  but  myself.  For  the  leist  two 
years  I  had  even  given  up  reading  for  fear  of  meeting  with  some 
passage  opposed  to  my  "  idea  "  which  might  shake  me.  And  all 
at  once  Vassin  had  solved  the  difficulty  and  reassured  me  on  the 
most  essential  point.  After  all,  what  was  I  afraid  of  and  what 
could  they  do  to  me,  whatever  skill  in  argument  they  might  have  ? 
I  perhaps  was  the  only  one  who  understood  what  Vassin  meant 
by  "an  idea  transformed  into  an  emotion."  It's  not  enough 
to  refute  a  fine  idea,  one  must  replace  it  by  something  fine  of 

50 


equal  strength  ;  or  else,  refusing  absolutely  to  part  with  my 
feeling,  in  my  heart  I  should  refute  the  refutation,  however 
strong  the  argument  might  be,  whatever  they  might  say.  And 
what  could  they  give  me  in  place  of  it  ?  And  therefore  I  might 
be  braver,  I  was  bound  to  be  more  manly.  While  I  was  de- 
lighted with  Vassin,  I  felt  ashamed,  and  felt  myself  an  insigni- 
ficant child. 

Then  there  followed  fresh  ignominy.  It  was  not  a  contemptible 
desire  to  show  o£F  my  intelligence  that  made  me  break  the  ice 
and  speak,  it  was  an  impulse  to  "  throw  myself  on  his  neck." 
The  impulse  to  throw  myself  on  people's  necks  that  they  might 
think  well  of  me  and  take  me  to  their  hearts  or  something  of  the 
sort  (pure  beastliness,  in  fact)  I  look  upon  as  the  most  abject  of  my 
weaknesses,  and  I  suspected  it  in  myself  long  ago  ;  in  fact,  when 
I  was  in  the  comer  in  which  I  entrenched  myself  for  so  many 
years,  though  I  don't  regret  doing  so,  I  knew  I  ought  to  behave 
in  company  with  more  austerity.  What  comforted  me  after 
every  such  ignominious  scene  was  that  my  "  idea  "  was  as  great 
a  secret  as  ever,  and  that  I  hadn't  given  it  away.  With  a  sinking 
at  my  heart  I  sometimes  imagined  that  when  I  did  let  out  my 
idea  to  some  one  I  should  suddenly  have  nothing  left,  that  I 
should  become  Uke  every  one  else,  and  perhaps  I  should  give  up 
the  idea  ;  and  so  I  was  on  my  guard  and  preserved  it,  and 
trembled  at  the  thought  of  chattering.  And  now  at  Dergatchev's, 
almost  at  the  first  contact  with  anyone,  I  broke  down.  I  hadn't 
betrayed,  anything,  of  course,  but  I  had  chattered  unpardonably ; 
it  was  ignotainious.  It  is  a  horrid  thing  to  remember  !  No,  I 
must  not  associate  with  people,  I  think  so  even  now.  Forty 
years  hence  I  will  Epeak.    My  idea  demands  a  comer. 


As  soon  as  Vassin  expressed  approval  I  felt  irresistibly  impelled 
to  talk. 

"  I  consider  that  every  one  has  aright  to  have  his  own  feelings 
...  if  they  are  from  conviction  .  ,  ,  and  that  no  one  should 
reproach  him  with  them,"  I  went  on,  addressing  Vassin.  Though 
I  spoke  boldly,  it  was  as  though  I  was  not  speaking,  not  my  own 
tongue  moving  in  my  mouth. 

"  Re-all-ly  ?  "  the  same  voice  which  had  interrupted  Dergat- 
chev  and  shouted  at  Kraft  that  he  was  a  German  interposed 
with  an  ironical  drawl.     Regarding  the  speaker  as  a  complete 

51 


nonentity,  I  addressed  the  teacher  as  though  he  had  called  out 
to  me. 

"  It's  my  conviction  that  I  should  not  dare  to  judge  anyone," 
I  said,  quivering,  and  conscious  that  I  was  going  to  make  a  fool 
of  myself. 

"  Why  so  mysterious  1  "  cried  the  voice  of  the  nonentity  again. 
"  Every  man  has  his  own  idea,"  I  went  on,  gazing  persistently 
at  the  teacher,  who  for  his  part  held  his  tongue  and  looked  at  me 
with  a  smile. 

"  Yours  is  ?  "  cried  the  nonentity. 

*'  Too  long  to  describe.  .  .  .  But  part  of  my  idea  is  that  I 
should  be  left  alone.  As  long  as  I've  two  roubles  I  want  to  be 
independent  of  every  one  (don't  excite  yourself,  I  know  the 
objection  that  will  be  made)  and  to  do  nothing — not  even  to  work 
for  that  grand  future  of  humanity  which  Mr.  Kraft  is  invited  to 
work  for.  Personal  freedom,  that  is,  my  ownf  is  the  first  thing, 
and  I  don't  care  about  anything  else." 
My  mistake  was  that  I  lost  my  temper. 

"  In  other  words  you  advocate  the  tranquillity  of  the  well-fed 
cow  ?  " 

"  So  be  it.  Cows  don't  hurt  anyone.  I  owe  no  one  anything. 
I  pay  society  in  the  form  of  taxes  that  I  may  not  be  robbed, 
killed  or  assaulted,  and  no  one  dare  demand  anything  more. 
I  personally,  perhaps,  may  have  other  ideas,  and  if  I  want  to  serve 
humanity  I  shall,  and  perhaps  ten  times  as  much  as  those  who 
preach  about  it ;  only  I  want  no  one  to  dare  to  demand  it  of  me, 
to  force  me  to  it  like  Mr.  Kraft.  I  must  be  perfectly  free  not  to 
lift  a  finger  if  I  like.  But  to  rush  and  '  fall  on  everybody's  neck  ' 
from  love  to  humanity,  and  dissolve  in  tears  of  emotion — is  only  a 
fashion.  And  why  should  I  be  bound  to  love  my  neighbour,  or 
your  future  humanity  which  I  shall  never  see,  which  will  never 
know  anything  about  me,  and  which  will  in  its  turn  disappear 
and  leave  no  trace  (time  counts  for  nothing  in  this)  when  the 
earth  in  its  turn  will  be  changed  into  an  iceberg,  and  will  fly  off 
into  the  void  with  an  infinite  multitude  of  other  similar  icebergs  ; 
it's  the  most  senseless  thing  one  could  possibly  imagine.  That's 
your  teaching.  Tell  me  why  I  am  bound  to  be  so  noble, 
especially  if  it  all  lasts  only  for  a  moment  ?  " 
"  Р-}юоЬ  !  "  cried  a  voice. 

I  had  fired  off  all  this  with  nervous  exasperation,  throwing 
off  all  restraint.  I  knew  that  I  was  making  a  fool  of  myself, 
but  I  hurried  on,  afraid  of  being  interrupted.     I  felt  that  my 

52 


words  were  poiiring  out  like  water  through  a  sieve,  incoherently, 
nineteen  to  the  dozen,  but  I  hurried  on  to  convince  them  and  get 
the  better  of  them.  It  was  a  matter  of  such  importance  to  me. 
I  had  been  preparing  for  it  for  three  years.  But  it  was  remark- 
able that  they  were  all  suddenly  ^bnt,  they  said  absolutely 
nothing,  every  one  was  listening.  I  went  on  addressing  my 
remarks  to  the  teacher. 

"  That's  just  it.  A  very  clever  man  has  said  that  nothing  is 
more  difficult  than  to  answer  the  question  '  Why  we  must  be 
honoiirable.'  You  know  there  are  three  sorts  of  scoundrels  in 
the  world  ;  naive  scoundrels,  that  is,  convinced  that  their 
villany  is  the  highest  virtue  ;  scoundrels  who  are  ashamed,  that 
is,  ashamed  of  their  own  villany,  though  they  fully  intend  to 
persevere  with  it ;  and  lastly  simple  scoundrels,  pure-bred  scoun- 
drels. For  example  I  had  a  schoolfellow  called  Lambert  who 
told  me  at  sixteen  that  when  he  came  into  his  fortune  it  would 
be  his  greatest  satisfaction  to  feed  on  meat  and  bread  while  the 
children  of  the  poor  were  dying  of  hunger  ;  and  when  they  had 
no  fuel  for  their  fires  he  would  buy  up  a  whole  woodstack,  build 
it  up  in  a  field  and  set  fire  to  it  there,  and  not  give  any  of  it  to 
the  poor.  Those  were  his  feelings  !  Tell  me,  what  am  I  to  say 
to  a  pure-blooded  scoundrel  like  that  if  he  asks  me  why  he  should 
be  honourable  ?  Especially  now  in  these  times  which  you  have 
so  transformed,  for  things  have  never  been  worse  than  they  are 
now.  Nothing  is  clear  in  our  society.  You  deny  God,  you  see, 
deny  heroism.  What  blind,  deaf,  dull-witted  stagnation  of  mind 
can  force  me  to  act  in  one  way,  if  it's  more  to  my  advantage  to 
do  the  opposite  ?  You  say  '  a  rational  attitude  to  humanity  is 
to  your  own  advantage,  too  '  ;  but  what  if  I  think  all  these 
rational  considerations  irrational,  and  dislike  all  these  socialist 
barracks  and  phalanxes  ?  What  the  devil  do  I  care  for  them 
or  for  the  future  when  I  shall  only  live  once  on  earth  !  Allow 
me  to  judge  of  my  advantage  for  myself  ;  it's  more  amusing. 
What  does  it  matter  to  me  what  will  happen  in  a  thousand  years 
to  your  humanity  if,  on  your  principles,  I'm  to  get  for  it  neither 
love,  nor  future  life,  nor  recognition  of  my  heroism  ?  No,  if 
that's  how  it  is  I'd  rather  live  in  the  most  ignorant  way  for 
myself  and  let  them  all  go  to  perdition  !  " 

"  An  excellent  sentiment  !  " 

"  Though  I'm  always  ready  to  go  with  them.** 

"  That's  one  better  !  " — the  same  voice  again. 

The   others   still  remained   silent,    they   all   scrutinized   me, 

53 


staring ;  but  little  by  little  in  different  parts  of  the  room  there 
rose  a  titter,  subdued  indeed,  but  they  were  all  laughing  at  me  to 
my  face.  Vassin  and  Kraft  were  the  only  ones  not  laughing, 
the  gentleman  with  the  black  whiskers  was  sniggering  too  ;  he 
sneered  at  me  persistently  and  listened. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  my  idea,"  I  cried,  quivering  all 
over,  "  nothing  would  induce  me,  but  I  ask  you  on  the  other  hand, 
from  yoiu"  point  of  view — don't  imagine  I'm  speaking  for  myself, 
for  I  dare  say  I  love  humanity  a  thousand  times  more  than  all 
of  you  put  together  !  Tell  me,  and  you  must,  you  are  bound  now 
to  answer  because  you  are  laughing,  tell  me,  what  inducement 
do  you  hold  out  to  me  to  follow  you  ?  Tell  me,  how  do  you 
prove  to  me  that  you'll  make  things  better  ?  How  will  you  deal 
with  my  individual  protest  in  your  barracks  ?  I  have  wanted  to 
meet  you,  gentlemen,  for  ever  so  long.  You  will  have  barracks, 
communistic  homes,  stride  necessaire,  atheism,  and  communistic 
wives  without  children — that's  your  ideal,  I  know  all  about  it. 
And  for  all  this,  for  this  little  part  of  mediocre  advantage  which 
your  rational  system  guarantees  me,  for  a  bit  of  bread  and  a 
warm  comer  you  take  away  all  my  personal  liberty  !  For  in- 
stance ;  if  my  wife's  carried  off,  are  you  going  to  take  away  my 
personal  liberty  so  that  I  mayn't  bash  my  rival's  brains  in  ? 
You'll  tell  me  I  shall  be  more  sensible  then  myself,  but  what  will 
the  wife  say  to  a  husband  so  sensible,  if  she  has  the  slightest  self- 
resx)ect  ?     Why  it's  unnatural ;   you  ought  to  be  ashamed !  " 

"  You're  a  specialist  on  the  woman  question  then  1  "  the  voice 
of  the  nonentity  pronounced  malignantly. 

For  one  instant  I  had  an  impulse  to  fly  at  him  and  pommel 
him  with  my  fists.  He  was  a  short  fellow  with  red  hair/and 
freckles  .  .  .  though  what  the  devil  does  his  appearance  matter  ? 

"  Don't  excite  yourself.  I've  never  once  had  relations  with  a 
woman,"  I  rapped  out,  for  the  first  time  addressing  him  directly. 

"  A  priceless  avowal  which  might  have  been  made  more 
politely  in  the  presence  of  ladies." 

But  there  was  a  general  movement  among  them  ;  they  were 
all  looking  for  their  hats  and  taking  leave — not  on  my  account,  of 
course,  but  simply  because  it  was  time  to  break  up.  But  I  was 
crushed  with  shame  at  the  way  they  all  ignored  me.  I  jumped 
up,  too. 

"  Allow  me  to  ask  your  name.  You  kept  looking  at  me." 
said  the  teacher,  coming  up  to  me  with  a  very  nasty  smile. 

"  Dolgoruky." 

.  54 


**  Prince  Dolgoruky  ?  " 

"  No,  simply  Dolgoruky,  legally  the  son  of  a  former  serf, 
Makar  Dolgoruky,  but  the  illegitimate  son  of  my  former  master, 
Monsieur  Versilov.  Don't  make  a  mistake,  gentlemen,  I  don't 
tell  you  this  to  make  you  all  fall  upon  my  neck  and  begin  howling 
like  calves  from  sentimentality." 

There  was  a  loud  and  imceremonious  roar  of  laughter,  so  much 
so  that  the  baby,  who  was  asleep  in  the  next  room,  waked  up 
and  began  squealing.  I  trembled  with  fury.  Every  one  shook 
hands  with  Dergatchev  and  went  out  without  taking  the  shghtest 
notice  of  me. 

"  Come  along,"  said  Kraft,  touching  me. 

I  went  up  to  Dergatchev,  pressed  his  hand  and  shook  it 
vigorously  several  times. 

"  You  must  excuse  Kudryumov's  being  so  rude  to  you  " 
(Kudryumoiv  was  the  red-haired  man),  said  Dergatchev. 

I  followed  Kraft  out.    I  wa^  not  in  the  least  ashamed. 

There  is  of  course  an  immense  difference  between  what  I  am 
now  and  what  I  was  then. 

Still  "  not  in  the  least  ashamed  "  I  overtook  Vassin  on  the 
stairs,  leavirg  Kraft  behind  as  of  secondary  importance,  and  with 
the  most  natural  air  as  though  nothing  had  happened  I  asked  ; 

"  I  believe  you  know  my  father,  I  mean  Versilov. 

"  He's  not  exactly  an  acquaintance  of  mine,"  Vassin  answered 
at  once  (and  without  a  trace  of  that  insulting  refinement  of 
politeness  which  deUcate  people  adopt  when  they  speak  to  people 
who  have  just  disgraced  themselves),  "  but  I  do  know  him  a  little ; 
I  have  met  him  and  I've  heard  him  talk." 

"  If  you've  heard  him  no  doubt  you  do  know  him,  for  you  are 
you  !  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  Forgive  the  abrupt  question 
but  I  need  to  know.  It's  what  you  would  think,  just  your 
opinion  that  I  need." 

"  You  are  asking  a  great  deal  of  me.  I  believe  that  man  is 
capable  of  setting  himself  tremendous  tasks  and  possibly  carry- 
ing them  through — but  without  rendering  an  accoxmt  of  his 
doings  to  anyone." 

"  "That's  true,  that's  very  true — he's  a  very  proud  man  !  Is  he 
a  sincere  man  ?  Tell  me,  what  do  you  think  about  his  being  a 
CathoUo  ?     But  I  forgot,  perhaps  you  don't  know  ?  " 

55 


If  I  had  not  been  so  excited  I  should  not,  of  course,  have  fired 
ofi  such  questions  so  irrelevantly  at  a  man  of  whom  I  had  heard 
but  whom  I  had  never  seen  before.  I  was  surprised  that  Vassin 
did  not  seem  to  notice  how  rude  I  was. 

"  I  heard  something  about  it,  but  I  don't  know  how  far  it 
may  be  true,"  he  answered  in  the  same  calm  and  even  tone  as 
before.' 

"  Not  a  bit !  It's  fabe  !  Do  you  suppose  he  can  believe  in 
God  ?  " 

"  He — is  a  very  proud  man,  as  you  said  just  now,  and  many 
very  proud  people  like  to  believe  in  God,  especially  those  who 
despise  other  people.  Many  strong  natures  seem  to  have  a 
sort  of  natural  craving  to  find  some  one  or  soaiething  to  which 
they  can  do  homage.  Strong  natures  often  find  it  very  difficult 
to  bear  the  burden  of  their  strength." 

"  Do  you  know  that  must  be  awfully  true,"  I  cried  again. 
"  Only  I  should  like  to  understand  .  .  ." 

"  The  reason  is  obvious.  They  turn  to  God  to  avoid  doing 
homage  to  men,  of  course  without  recognizing  how  it  comes  about 
in  them  ;  to  do  homage  to  God  is  not  so  humiliating.  They 
become  the  most  fervent  of  believers — or  to  be  more  accurate 
the  most  fervently  desirous  of  believing  ;  but  they  take  this 
desire  for  belief  itself.  These  are  the  people  who  most  frequently 
become  disillusioned  in  the  end.  As  for  Monsieur  Versilov,  I 
imagine  that  he  has  some  extremely  sincere  characteristics. 
And  altogether  he  interested  me." 

"  Vassin  !  "  I  cried,  "  you  rejoice  my  heart!  It's  not  your 
intelligence  I  wonder  at ;  I  am  astonished  that  you,  a  man  of 
such  a  lofty  nature  and  so  far  above  me,  can  walk  with  me  and 
talk  to  me  as  simply  and  courteously  as  though  nothing  had 
happened ! " 

Vassin  smiled. 

*'  You  are  too  flattering,  and  all  that  has  happened  is  that  you 
have  shown  a  weakness  for  abstract  conversation.  You  have 
probably  been  through  a  long  period  of  silence." 

"  For  three  j'ears  I  have  been  silent ;  for  three  years  I  hare 
been  preparing  to  speak  .  .  .  You  couldn't  of  course  have  thought 
me  a  fool,  you're  eg  traordinarily  clever,  though  no  one  could 
have  behaved  more  stupidly ;  but  you  must  have  thought  me  a 
scoundrel." 

"  A  scoundrel  !  " 

"  Yes,  certainly  !    Tell  me,  don't  you  secretly  despise  me  for 

56 


saying  I  was  Versilov's  illegitimate  son.  .  .  .  Boasting  I  was 
the  son  of  a  serf  ?  " 

"  You  worry  yourself  too  much.  If  you  think  you  did  wrong 
in  saying  so  you've  only  to  avoid  saying  it  again.  You  have 
fifty  years  before  you." 

*'  Oh,  I  know  that  I  ought  to  be  very  silent  with  other  people. 
This  throwing  oneself  on  people's  necks  is  the  lowest  of  all 
vices  ;  I  told  them  so  just  now,  and  here  I  am  doing  it  to  you ! 
But  there  is  a  difference,  isn't  there  ?  If  you  realize  that  differ- 
ence, if  you  are  capable  of  realizing  it,  then  I  bless  this  moment  I " 

Vassin  smiled  again. 

"  Come  and  see  me  if  you  care  to,"  he  said.  "  I  have  work 
now  and  am  busy,  but  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you." 

"  I  thought  from  your  face  just  now  that  you  were  too  hard 
and  uncommunicative." 

"  That  may  very  well  be  true.  I  saw  something  of  your  sister 
Lizaveta  Makarovna  at  Luga,  last  year.  .  .  .  Kraft  has  stopped 
and  I  believe  is  waiting  for  you.     He  has  to  turn  here." 

I  pressed  Vassin's  hand  warmly,  and  ran  up  to  Kraft,  who  had 
walked  on  ahead  all  the  while  I  talked  to  Vassin.  We  walked 
in  silence  to  his  lodgings.  I  could  not  speak  to  him  and  did  not 
want  to.  One  of  the  strongest  traits  in  Kraft's  character  was 
delicacy. 


CHAPTER  IV 


Kraft  had  been  somewhere  in  the  service,  and  at  the  same  time 
had  been  a  paid  assistant  of  Andronikov's  in  the  management 
of  the  private  business  which  the  deceased  gentleman  had  always 
carried  on  in  addition  to  his  official  duties.  What  mattered 
to  me  was,  that  from  his  close  association  with  Andronik6v, 
Kraft  might  well  know  a  great  deal  of  what  interested  me.  But 
Marie  Ivanovna,  the  wife  of  Nikolay  Semyonovitch,  with  whom 
I  had  boarded  so  many  years  while  I  was  at  the  grammar  school 
in  Moscow,  was  a  favourite  niece  of  Andronikov  and  was 
brought  up  by  him,  and  from  her  I  learnt  that  Kraft  had  actually 
been  "  commissioned "  to  give  me  something.  I  had  been 
e2фecting  him  for  a  whole  month. 

He  lived  in  a  little  flat  of  two  rooms  quite  apart  from  the  rest 
of  the  house,  and  at  the  moment,  having  only  just  returned,  he 

57 


had  no  servant.  His  trunk  stood  open,  not  yet  unpacked.  His 
belongings  l?iy  about  on  the  chairs,  and  were  spread  out  on  the 
table  in  front  of  the  sofa  :  his  travelling  bag,  his  cashbox,  hie 
revolver  and  so  on.  As  we  went  in,  Kraft  seemed  lost  in  thought, 
as  though  he  had  altogether  forgotten  me.  He  had  perhaps 
not  noticed  that  I  had  not  spoken  to  him  on  the  way.  He  began 
looking  for  something  at  once,  but  happening  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  himself  in  the  looking-glass  he  stood  still  for  a  full  minute 
gazing  at  his  own  face.  Though  I  noticed  this  peculiar  action, 
and  recalled  it  all  afterwards,  I  was  depressed  and  disturbed. 
I  was  not  feeling  equal  to  concentrating  my  mind.  For  a 
moment  I  had  a  sudden  impulse  to  go  straight  away  and  to  give 
it  all  up  for  ever.  And  after  all  what  did  all  these  things  amount 
to  in  reality  ?  Was  it  not  simply  an  unnecessary  worry  I  had 
taken  upon  myself  ?  I  sank  into  despair  at  the  thought  that 
I  was  wasting  so  much  energy  perhaps  on  worthless  trifles  from 
mere  sentimentality,  while  I  had  facing  me  a  task  that  called 
for  all  my  powers.  And  meanwhile  my  incapacity  for  any 
real  work  was  clearly  obvious  from  what  had  happened  at 
Dergatchev's. 

"  Kjraft,  shall  you  go  to  them  again  ?  "  I  asked  him  suddenly. 

He  turned  slowly  to  me  as  though  hardly  understanding  me. 
I  sat  down  on  a  chair. 

"  Forgive  them,"  said  Kj-aft  suddenly. 

I  fancied,  of  course,  that  this  was  a  sneer,  but  looking  attentively 
at  him,  I  saw  such  a  strange  and  even  wonderful  ingenuousness 
in  his  face  that  I  positively  wondered  at  his  asking  me  so  earnestly 
to  "  forgive  "  them.  He  brought  up  a  chair  and  sat  down 
beside  me. 

"  I  know  that  I  am  perhaps  a  medley  of  all  sorts  of  vanities 
and  nothing  more,"  I  began,  "  but  I'm  not  apologizing." 

"  And  you've  no  need  to  apologize  to  anyone,"  he  said,  quietly 
and  earnestly.     He  talked  all  the  time  quietly  and  very  slowly. 

"  I  may  be  guilty  in  my  own  eyes.  ...  I  hke  being  guilty  in  my 
own  eyes.  .  .  .  Kraft,  forgive  me  for  talking  nonsense.  Tell  me, 
surely  you  don't  belong  to  that  circle  ?  That's  what  I  wanted 
to  ask." 

"  They  are  no  sillier  than  other  people  and  no  wiser  ;  they  are 
mad  like  every  one  else.  .  .  ." 

"  Why,  is  every  one  mad  ?  "  I  asked,  turning  towards  him  with 
involuntary  curiosity. 

"  All  the  best  people  are  mad  nowadays  ;  it's  the  carnival  of 

53 


mediocrity  and  ineptitude  and  nothing  else.  .  .  ,  But  it's  not 
worth  talking  about." 

As  he  talked  he  looked  away  into  the  air  and  began  sentences 
and  broke  off  without  finishing  them.  I  was  particularly  struck 
by  a  note  of  despondency  in  his  voice. 

"  Surely  Vassin  Ls  not  one  of  them,  Vassin  has  a  mind,  Vassin 
has  a  moral  idea  !  "  I  cried. 

"  There  are  no  moral  ideas  now.  It  suddenly  appears  that 
there  is  not  one  left  and,  what's  worse,  that  there  never  have 
been  any." 

"  Never  have  been  any  in  the  past  ?  " 

"  Let  us  leave  that  !  "  he  brought  out  with  unmistakable 
weariness. 

I  was  touched  by  his  sorrowful  earnestness.  Ashamed  of 
my  own  egoism  I  began  to  drop  into  his  tone. 

"  The  present  day,"  he  began  after  a  pause  lasting  two  minutes, 
looking  away  into  space,  "  the  present  day  is  the  golden  age 
of  mediocrity  and  callousness,  of  a  passion  for  ignorance,  idleness, 
inefficiency,  a  craving  for  everything  ready-made.  No  one 
thinks  ;  it's  rare  for  anyone  to  work  out  an  idea  for  himself." 

He  broke  off  again  and  paused  for  a  while  ;  I  listened.  "  Now- 
adays they  are  stripping  Russia  of  her  forests,  and  exhausting 
her  natural  wealth,  turning  the  country  into  a  waste  and  making 
it  only  fit  for  the  Kalmucks.  If  a  man  looks  forward  and  plants 
a  tree  every  one  laughs  at  him,  and  tells  him  he  won't  live  to 
enjoy  it.  On  the  other  hand  those  with  aspirations  discuss 
nothing  but  what  will  be  in  a  thousand  years.  The  idea  that 
sustained  men  has  utterl}'  gone.  It's  as  though  they  were  all 
at  an  hotel  and  were  leaving  Russia  to-morrow.  They  are  alive 
if  they  could  only  .  .  ." 

"  Excuse  me,  Kraft,  you  said  they  worried  their  heads  about 
what  would  happen  in  a  thousand  years.  But  you  despair 
about  the  future  of  Russia  .  .  .  isn't  that  an  anxiety  of  the 
same  sort  ?  " 

"  It — it's  the  most  essential  question  in  the  world  !  "  he  said 
irritably,  and  jumped  up  quickly  from  his  seat. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  I  forgot,"  he  said  suddenly  in  quite  a  different  voice, 
looking  at  me  in  perplexity.  "  I  asked  you  to  come  for  something 
special  and  meanwhile  .  .  .  for  heaven's  sake  excuse  me." 

He  seemed  suddenly  to  wake  up  from  a  sort  of  dream,  and  was 
almost  disconcerted  ;  he  took  a  letter  out  of  a  portfolio  on  the 
table  and  gave  it  to  me. 

59 


"  This  is  what  I  have  to  give  you.  It's  a  document  of 
some  importance,"  he  began,  speaking  collectedly  and  with  a 
businesslike  air.  Long  afterwards,  when  I  recalled  it,  I  was 
struck  by  this  faculty  in  him  (at  an  hour  such  as  this  was — 
for  him  !)  of  turning  such  wholehearted  attention  on  another 
person's  affairs  and  going  into  them  with  such  firmness  and 
composure. 

"It  is  a  letter  of  Stolbeyev's,  that  is  of  the  man  whose  will 
gave  rise  to  Versilov's  lawsuit  with  the  Princes  Sokolsky.  The 
case  is  just  being  decided  in  the  court,  and  will  certainly  be 
decided  in  Versilov's  favour  ;  the  law  is  on  his  side.  Meanwhile, 
in  this  letter,  a  private  letter  written  two  years  ago,  the  deceased 
sets  forth  his  real  dispositions,  or  more  accurately  his  desires, 
and  expresses  them  rather  in  favour  of  the  Sokolskys  than  of 
Versilov.  At  any  rate  the  points  on  which  the  Sokolskys  rest 
their  case  in  contesting  the  will  are  materially  strengthened  by 
this  letter.  Ver'^ilov's  opponents  would  give  a  great  deal  for 
this  letter,  thougu  it  really  has  no  positive  legal  value.  Alexey 
Nikanoritch  (Andronikov),  who  managed  Versilov's  affairs,  kept 
this  letter  and  not  long  before  his  death  gave  it  to  me,  telling  me 
to  '  take  care  of  it '  ;  perhaps  he  had  a  presentiment  that  he 
was  dying  and  was  anxious  about  his  papers.  I  was  unwilling 
to  judge  of  Alexey  Nikanoritch's  intentions  in  the  case,  and  I 
must  confess  that  at  his  death  I  found  myself  in  disagreeable 
uncertainty  what  to  do  with  this  document,  especially  as  the 
case  was  so  soon  to  be  concluded.  But  Marie  Ivanovna,  in  whom 
Alexey  Nikanoritch  seems  to  have  put  great  confidence  in  his 
lifetime,  helped  me  out  of  the  difficulty.  She  wrote  to  me  three 
weeks  ago  telling  me  that  I  was  to  give  the  letter  to  you,  as  this 
would,  she  believed  (her  own  expression)  be  in  accordance  with 
the  wishes  of  the  deceased,  and  I  am  very  glad  that  I  can  at  last 
give  it  to  you." 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said,  dumbfoundered  at  this  new  and  unexpected 
information,  "  what  am  I  to  do  with  this  letter  now  ?  How  am 
I  to  act  ?  " 

"  That's  for  you  to  decide.** 

"  Impossible  ;  my  hands  are  tied,  you  must  admit  that ! 
Versilov  is  so  reckoning  on  this  fortune  .  .  .  and,  you  know, 
he'll  be  utterly  lost  without  it ;  and  it  suddenly  appears  that  a 
document  like  this  exists  !  " 

"  It  only  exists  here  in  this  room." 

*'  Is  that  really  so  ?  "  I  looked  at  him  attentively. 

60 


"  If  you  can't  decide  how  to  act  in  this  case,  what  can  I  advise 
you  ?  " 

"  But  I  can't  give  it  to  the  Sokolskys  either.  I  should  ruin 
all  Versilov's  hopes,  and  be  a  traitor  to  him  besides.  .  .  .  On  the 
other  hand  if  I  give  it  to  Versilov  I  plunge  the  innocent  into 
poverty,  and  I  should  put  Versilov  in  a  hopeless  dilemma  too ; 
he  would  either  have  to  give  up  the  fortune  or  become  a  thief." 

"  You  exaggerate  the  importance  of  the  matter." 

"  Tell  me  one  thing  :  is  this  letter  decisive,  conclusive  ?  " 

"  No,  it  isn't.  I'm  not  much  of  a  lawyer.  A  lawj'er  on  the 
other  side  would,  no  doubt,  know  how  to  make  use  of  such  a 
document  and  to  turn  it  to  account ;  but  Alexey  Nikanoritch 
considered  positiv'ely  that  if  this  letter  were  put  forward  it  would 
have  no  great  legal  x^alue,  so  that  Versilov's  case  might  be  won  all 
the  same.  This  letter  is  more  a  matter  of  conscience,  so  to  say. . . ." 

"  But  that's  what  matters  most  of  all,"  I  interrupted,  "  just 
because  it  would  put  Versilov  in  a  hopeless  dilemma." 

"  He  may  on  the  contrary  destroy  the  document,  and  so  escape 
all  danger." 

"  Have  you  any  grounds  for  supposing  such  a  thing  of  him, 
Kraft  ?     That  s  what  I  want  to  know  ;  that's  why  I'm  here." 

"  I  believe  every  one  would  do  the  same  iii  his  place." 

"  Would  you  behave  so,  yourself  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  receive  a  fortune,  so  I  can't  tell  about 
myself." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  putting  the  letter  in  my  pocket.  "The 
matter's  settled  for  the  present.  Listen,  Kraft.  Marie  Ivanovna, 
who  has,  I  assure  you,  told  me  a  great  deal,  said  to  me  that  you 
and  only  you  could  tell  me  the  truth  of  what  happened  at  Ems 
a  year  and  a  half  ago  between  Versilov  and  Mme.  Ahmakov. 
I've  been  looking  forward  to  seeing  you  as  a  sun  that  would 
throw  light  on  everything.  You  don't  know  my  position, 
Kraft.  I  beseech  you  to  tell  me  the  whole  truth.  What  I  want 
to  know  is  what  kind  of  man  he  is,  and  now — now  I  need  to  know 
it  more  than  ever." 

"  I  wonder  Marie  Ivanovna  did  not  tell  you  all  about  it  herself  ; 
she  might  have  heard  it  all  from  Andronikov,  and  of  course  she 
has  heard  it  and  very  likely  knows  more  than  I  do." 

"  Andronikov  was  not  clear  about  it  himself,  so  Marie  Ivanovna 
told  me.  It  seems  a  maze  to  which  no  one  has  the  clue.  The 
devil  himself  would  be  lost  in  it.  I  know  that  you  were  at  Ems 
yourself  at  the  time." 

6i 


"  I  never  knew  the  whole  of  it,  but  what  I  do  know  I  will 
willingly  tell  you  if  you  like,  though  I  doubt  whether  I  shall 
satisfy  you." 

2 

I  won't  reproduce  his  story  word  for  word,  but  will  only  give 
a  brief  summary  of  it. 

A  year  and  a  half  before,  Versilov  (through  the  old  prince) 
oecame  a  constant  visitor  at  the  Ahraakovs'  (they  were  all 
abroad  then,  at  Ems)  and  made  a  great  impression  on  the 
general  himself,  a  man  who  had  during  three  years  of  marriage 
squandered  all  his  wife's  large  dowry  over  cards,  and  as  a  result 
of  his  irregular  life  had  already  had  a  paralytic  stroke,  though 
he  was  not  an  old  man.  He  had  recovered  from  it  before  going 
abroad,  and  was  staying  at  Ems  for  the  sake  of  his  daughter  by 
his  first  wife.  She  was  a  girl  of  seventeen,  in  delicate  health — 
consumptive — and  said  to  be  extremely  beautiful,  but  at  the 
same  time  very  fantastical.  She  had  no  dowry  ;  but  they 
rested  their  hopes,  as  usual,  on  the  old  prince.  Mme.  Ahmakov 
was  said  to  be  a  good  stepmother,  but  the  girl,  for  some  reason, 
became  particularly  attached  to  Versilov.  He  was  preaching 
at  that  time  "  something  impassioned,"  as  Kraft  expressed  it, 
some  sort  of  new  life  ;  "  was  in  a  state  of  religious  fervour  of 
the  most  exalted  kind,"  in  the  strange  and  perhaps  ironical 
phrase  of  Andronikov,  which  was  repeated  to  me.  But  it  was 
noticeable  that  they  all  soon  began  to  dislike  him.  The  general 
was  positively  afraid  of  him.  Kraft  did  not  altogether  deny 
the  rumour  that  Versilov  succeeded  in  instilling  into  the  invalid 
husband's  mind  the  suspicion  that  his  wife,  Katerina  Niko- 
laevna,  was  not  indifferent  to  the  young  Prince  SokoLsky  (who 
had  left  Ems  and  was  at  that  time  in  Paris).  He  did  this  not 
directly,  but  "  after  his  usual  fashion  " — ^by  hints,  inferences, 
and  all  sorts  of  roundabout  ways,  "  at  which  he  is  a  great  master," 
said  Kraft.  I  may  say  that  Kraft  considered  him,  and  preferred 
to  consider  him,  altogether  rather  as  an  impostor  and  an  invete- 
rate intriguer  than  as  a  man  genuinely  possessed  by  some  exalted, 
or  at  least  original,  idea.  I  knew,  apart  from  Kraft,  that 
Versilov,  who  had  at  first  had  an  extraordinary  influence  on 
Katerina  Nikolaevna,  had  by  degrees  come  to  an  open  rupture 
with  her.  What  lay  behind  all  this  I  could  not  find  out  from 
Kraft,  but  every  one  confirmed  the  story  of  the  mutual  hatred 
that  had  sprung  up  between  them  after  their  friendship.     Then 

62 


came  a  strange  circumstance  :  Katerma  Nikolaevna's  invalid 
stepdaughter  apparently  fell  in  love  with  Versilov,  or  was  struck 
by  something  in  him,  or  was  inflamed  by  his  eloquence  or  I 
don't  know  what ;  but  it  is  known  that  at  one  time  Versilov 
spent  almost  every  day  at  her  side.  It  ended  by  the  young 
lady's  suddenly  announcing  to  her  father  that  she  wanted  to 
marry  Versilov.  That  this  actually  had  happened  was  con- 
firmed by  every  one — by  Kraft,  by  Andronikov,  and  by  Marie 
Ivanovna,  and  even  Tatyana  Pavlovna  once  spoke  about  it 
before  me.  They  asserted  also  that  Versilov  not  only  desired 
it  himself  but  positively  insisted  on  a  marriage  with  this  girl, 
and  that  these  two  creatures  of  such  different  species,  one  old 
and  the  other  young,  were  in  complete  agreement  about  it.  But 
the  father  was  alarmed  at  the  idea.  As  he  became  more  estranged 
from  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  whom  he  had  been  very  fond  of, 
he  now  began  almost  to  idolize  his  daughter,  especially  after  his 
stroke.  But  the  bitterest  opposition  to  the  idea  of  such  a 
marriage  came  from  Katerina  Nikolaevna.  There  followed  a 
great  number  of  secret  and  extremely  unpleasant  family  wrangles, 
disputes,  mortifying  and  in  fact  revolting  scenes.  At  last  the 
father  began  to  give  way  before  the  persistence  of  the  love-sick 
girl  who  was,  as  Kraft  expressed  it,  "  fanaticized  "  by  Versilov. 
But  Katerina  Nikolaevna  still  resisted  it  with  implacable  hatred. 
And  it  is  at  this  stage  that  the  muddle  begins  which  no  one  can 
understand.  But  this  was  Kraft's  conjecture  based  on  the 
facts — only  a  conjecture,  however. 

He  thought  Versilov  had  succeeded,  in  his  characteristic  гоау, 
in  subtly  suggesting  to  the  young  person  that  the  reason  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  would  not  agree  was  that  she  was  in  love  with  him 
herself,  and  had  been  for  a  long  time  past  worrying  him  with 
her  jealousy,  pursuing  him  and  intriguing  ;  that  she  had  declared 
her  feeling  to  him  and  was  now  ready  to  horsewhip  him  for 
loving  some  one  else  :  something  of  that  sort,  anyway.  Worst 
of  all,  that  he  had  "  hinted  "  this  to  the  girl's  father,  the  husband 
of  the  "  unfaithful  "  wife,  explaining  that  the  prince  had  only 
been  a  passing  amusement.  The  house,  of  course,  began  to  be 
a  perfect  hell.  In  some  versions  of  the  story  Katerina  Niko- 
laevna was  devoted  to  her  stepdaughter  and  now  was  in  despair 
at  being  calumniated  to  her,  to  say  nothing  of  her  relations 
with  her  invalid  husband.  And,  what  is  more,  there  existed 
another  version,  which,  to  my  grief,  I  found  Kraft  fully  beheved, 
and  therefore  I  believed  myself  (of  all  this  I  had  heard  already). 

63 


It  was  maintained  (Andronikov,  it  was  said,  had  heard  it  from 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  herself)  that,  on  the  contrary,  Versilov 
had  in  the  past,  before  his  feehng  for  the  girl,  made  love  to 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  ;  that  though  she  had  been  his  friend 
and  had  been  for  a  time  carried  away  by  his  religious  exaltation, 
yet  she  had  constantly  opposed  and  mistrusted  him,  and  that 
she  had  met  Versilov's  declaration  with  deep  resentment  and 
had  ridiculed  him  vindictively  ;  that  she  had  formally  dismissed 
him  for  having  openly  suggested  that  she  should  become  his 
wife  as  her  husband  was  expected  to  have  a  second  attack  very 
shortly.  On  this  theory  Katerina  Nikolaevna  must  have  felt 
a  peculiar  hatred  for  Versilov  when  she  saw  him  afterwards  so 
openly  trying  to  win  her  stepdaughter's  hand.  Marie  Ivanovna, 
who  told  me  all  this  in  Moscow,  believed  in  both  versions — both 
together,  that  is  ;  she  maintained  that  there  was  nothing  incon- 
sistent in  all  this,  that  it  was  something  in  the  style  of  la  haine 
dans  Varnour,  of  the  wounded  pride  of  love  on  both  sides,  etc. 
etc. — something,  in  fact,  like  a  very  subtle,  intricate  romance, 
quite  out  of  keeping  with  any  serious  and  common-sense  man 
and,  moreover,  with  an  element  of  nastiness  in  it.  But  Marie 
Ivanovna,  in  spite  of  her  estimable  character,  had  been  from 
childhood  upwards  saturated  with  sentiment,  from  the  novels 
which  she  read  day  and  night.  The  sequel  exhibited  Versilov's 
evident  baseness,  his  lying  and  intriguing,  something  dark  and 
loatlisome  in  him,  the  more  so  as  the  affair  had  a  tragic  ending. 
The  poor  infatuated  girl  poisoned  herself,  they  say,  by  means 
of  phosphorus  matches,  though  even  now  I  don't  know  whether 
to  believe  that  last  detail.  They  did  their  utmost  to  hush  it 
up,  anyway.  The  young  lady  was  ill  for  a  fortnight  and  then 
died.  So  the  matches  remained  an  open  question,  but  Kraft 
firmly  believed  in  them.  Shortly  afterwards  the  young  lady's 
father  died  too — it  was  said  from  his  grief,  which  brought  on 
a  second  stroke,  though  this  did  not  occur  till  three  months 
later.  But  after  the  young  lady's  funeral  the  young  Prince 
Sokolsky,  who  had  returned  to  Ems  from  Paris,  gave  Versilov 
a  slap  in  the  face  in  a  public  garden,  and  the  latter  had  not 
replied  with  a  challenge  but  had,  on  the  contrary,  showed  himself 
next  day  on  the  promenade  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
Then  every  one  turned  against  him,  in  Petersburg  as  well. 
Though  Versilov  kept  up  with  some  acquaintances,  they  were 
quite  in  a  different  circle.  All  his  aristocratic  friends 
blamed  him,  though,  as  a  fact,  scarcely'  anyone  knew  the  details  ; 

64 


they  only  knew  something  of  the  young  lady's  romantic  death 
and  the  slap  in  the  face.  Only  two  or  three  persons  knew  the 
story  fully,  so  far  as  that  was  possible.  The  one  who  had  known 
most  of  all  was  the  deceased,  Andronikov,  who  had  for  many 
years  had  business  relations  with  the  Ahmakovs,  and  had  had 
to  do  with  Katerina  Nikolaevna  particularly  in  one  case.  But 
he  kept  all  these  secrets  even  from  his  own  family  and  had  only 
told  part  of  the  story  to  Kraft  and  Marie  Ivanovna,  and  that 
from  necessity. 

"  The  chief  point  is  that  there  is  a  document  in  existence," 
concluded  Kraft,  "  which  Mme.  Ahmakov  is  very  much  afraid 
of." 

And  this  was  what  he  told  me  about  that.  When  the  old 
prince,  Katerina  Nikolaevna's  father,  was  abroad,  beginning  to 
recover  from  his  attack,  she  was  so  indiscreet  as  to  write  to 
Andronikov  in  dead  secret  (Katerina  Nikolaevna  put  impUcit 
faith  in  him)  an  extremely  compromising  letter.  During  his 
convalescence  the  old  prince  actually  did,  it  was  said,  display 
a  propensity  to  waste  his  money — almost  to  fling  it  away,  in 
fact ;  he  began  buying,  when  he  was  abroad,  quite  useless  but 
expensive  objects,  pictures,  vases,  making  donations  and  sub- 
scriptions of  large  sums  to  various  institutions  out  there,  and 
goodness  knows  what.  He  almost  bought,  on  the  sly,  for  an 
immense  sum,  a  ruined  and  encumbered  estate  from  a  fashionable 
Russian  spendthrift ;  and,  finally,  began  even  dreaming  of 
matrimony.  And  in  view  of  all  this,  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  who 
had  never  left  her  father's  side  during  his  illness,  wrote  to 
Andronikov,  as  a  "  lawyer "  and  "  an  old  friend,"  inquiring 
whether  "  it  would  be  legally  possible  to  put  the  old  prince 
under  guardianship  or  to  declare  him  incompetent  to  manage 
his  own  affairs,  and,  if  so,  how  it  could  best  be  done  without 
scandal,  that  no  one  might  blame  her  and  that  her  father's 
feelings  might  be  spared,  etc.  etc."  It  was  said  that  Andronikov 
advised  her  against  this  and  dissuaded  her  ;  and  later  on,  when 
the  old  prince  had  completely  recovered,  it  was  impossible  to 
return  to  the  idea  :  but  the  letter  remained  in  Andronikov's 
hands.  And  now  he  had  died,  and  Katerina  Nikolaevna  had 
at  once  remembered  the  letter  :  if  it  turned  up  among  the 
deceeused's  papers  and  fell  into  the  old  prince's  hands,  he  would, 
no  doubt,  have  cast  her  ofif  for  ever,  cut  her  out  of  his  will  and 
not  have  given  her  another  farthing  during  his  lifetime.  The 
thought  that  his  own  daughter  did  not  believe  in  his  sanity, 

65 


and  even  wanted  to  have  him  certified  as  a  hmatic  would  change 
the  lamb  into  a  wild  beast.  Her  husband's  gambling  habits 
had  left  her  at  his  death  without  a  farthing,  and  she  had  only  her 
father  to  look  to.  She  fully  hoped  to  receive  from  him  a  second 
dowry  as  ample  as  the  first. 

Kraft  did  not  quite  know  what  had  become  of  the  letter,  but 
observed  that  Andronikov  never  tore  up  papers  of  consequence, 
and  he  was,  besides,  a  man  of  "  broad  principles  "  as  well  as 
*'  broad  intelligence."  (I  was  positively  surprised  at  the  inde- 
pendence of  Kraft's  criticism  of  Andronikov,  whom  he  had 
loved  and  respected  so  much.)  But  Kraft  felt  convinced  that 
Versilov  had  obtained  possession  of  the  compromising  document 
through  his  close  relations  Avith  Andronikov's  widow  and 
daughters  ;  it  was  known,  indeed,  that  they  had  at  once,  of 
necessity,  handed  over  all  the  deceased's  papers  to  Wrsilov. 
He  knew,  too,  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  was  already  aware 
that  the  letter  was  in  Versilov's  possession  and  that  she  was 
frightened  on  account  of  it,  imagining  that  Versilov  would  take 
the  letter  straight  to  her  old  father  ;  that  on  her  return  from 
abroad  she  had  searched  for  the  document  in  Petersburg,  had  been 
at  the  Andronikovs',  and  was  still  hunting  for  it  now,  so  that 
she  must  still  have  some  hope  that  the  letter  was  not  in  Versilov's 
hands  ;  and,  finally,  that  she  had  gone  to  Moscow  simply  with 
the  same  object,  and  had  entreated  Marie  Ivanovna  to  look  for 
it  among  the  papers  that  had  remained  with  her.  She  had 
only  recently,  since  her  return  to  Petersburg,  heard  of  the 
existence  of  Marie  Ivanovna,  and  of  the  footing  on  which  the 
latter  had  stood  with  Andronikov, 

"  You  don't  think  she  found  it  at  Marie  Ivanovna's  ?  "  I 
asked.     "  I  have  my  own  ideas." 

"  If  Marie  Ivanovna  has  not  told  even  you  about  it,  probably 
she  hasn't  got  it." 

"  Then  you  suppose  the  document  is  in  Versilov's  hands  ?  " 

"  Most  likely  it  is.  I  don't  know,  though.  Anything  is 
possible,"  he  answered  with  evident  weariness. 

I  gave  up  questioning  him,  and  indeed  there  was  no  object  in 
doing  so.  All  that  mattered  most  had  been  made  clear  to  me,  in 
spite  of  all  this  sordid  tangle  ;  all  that  I  feared  most  was  confirmed. 

"  Its  all  like  a  delirious  nightmare,"  I  said,  deeply  dejected, 
as  I  took  up  my  hat. 

"  Is  the  man  so  dear  to  you  ?  "  asked  lu-aft.  I  read  his  deep 
sympathy  on  his  face  at  that  minute. 

66 


"  I  felt  I  shouldn't  learn  the  whole  story  from  you,"  said  I. 
"  Mme.  Ahmakov  is  the  only  hope  left  me.  I  was  resting  my 
hopes  on  her.     Perhaps  I  shall  go  to  her  and  perhaps  not." 

Kraft  looked  at  me  with  some  surprise. 

"  Good-bye,  Kraft,"  I  said.  "  Why  force  oneself  on  people 
who  don't  want  to  see  one  ?  Isn't  it  better  to  break  with  every- 
thing, eh  ?  " 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  he  asked  almost  sullenly,  keeping  his  eyes 
on  the  ground. 

"  Retreat  within  oneself  1  Break  with  everything  and  with- 
draw within  oneself  !" 

"  To  America  ?  " 

"  To  America !  Within  oneself,  simply  within  oneself ! 
That's  my  whole  idea,  Kraft  !  "  I  said  enthusiastically. 

He  looked  at  me  with  some  curiosity. 

"  Have  you  such  a  place  '  within  j^urself  '  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Good-bye,  Kraft ;  thank  you.  I  am  sorry  to  have 
troubled  you.  If  I  were  in  your  place  and  had  that  sort  of 
Russia  in  my  head  I'd  send  them  all  ^o  hell ;  I'd  say  :  '  Get 
out  with  3'OU  ;  keep  your  fretting  and  intriguing  to  yourselves — 
it's  nothing  to  do  with  me.'  " 

**  Stay  a  little  longer,"  he  said  suddenly  when  he  was  already 
with  me  at  the  front  door. 

I  was  a  little  surprised.  I  went  back  and  sat  down  again. 
ICraft  sat  opposite.  We  looked  at  each  other  with  a  sort  of 
smile.  I  can  see  it  all  now.  I  remember  that  I  felt  a  sort  of 
wonder  at  him. 

"  What  I  like  in  you  is  that  you're  so — courteous,"  I  said 
suddenly. 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  I  feel  that,  because  I  don't  often  succeed  in  being  courteous 
myself,  though  I  should  like  to.  And  yet  perhaps  it's  better 
for  people  to  be  rude  to  one  ;  at  least  they  save  one  from  the 
misfortune  of  liking  them." 

"  What  hour  of  the  day  do  you  like  best  ?  "  he  asked,  evidently 
not  listening  to  me. 

"  What  hour  ?     I  don't  know.     I  don't  like  sunset." 

"  No  ?  "  he  brought  out  with  a  peculiar  curiosity, 

"  Are  you  going  away  again  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I'm  going  away." 

"  Soon  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

67. 


"  Surely  you  don't  want  a  revolver  to  get  to  Vilna  ?  "  I  asked, 
without  the  faintest  hidden  meaning  in  my  words — and  indeed 
there  was  no  meaning  at  all !  I  asked  the  question  simply 
because  I  happened  to  glance  at  the  revolver  and  I  луаз  at  a 
loss  for  something  to  say. 

He  turned  and  looked  intently  at  the  revolver. 

"  No,  I  take  it  simply  from  habit." 

*'  If  I  had  a  revolver  I  should  keep  it  hidden  somewhere, 
locked  up.  It  really  is  a  temptation,  you  know.  I  may  not 
believe  in  an  epidemic  of  suicide,  but  if  it's  always  catching  my 
eye,  there  really  are  moments,  you  know,  when  it  might  tempt 
one." 

"  Don't  talk  about  it,"  he  said,  and  suddenly  got  up  from 
his  chair. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  myself,"  I  said,  standing  up  too.  "  I'm 
not  going  to  use  it.  If  you  were  to  give  me  three  lives  it  wouldn't 
be  enough  for  me." 

"  Long  life  to  you,"  broke  from  him. 

He  gave  me  an  absent-minded  smile  and,  strange  to  say, 
walked  straight  into  the  passage  as  though  to  show  me  out, 
probably  not  noticing  what  he  was  doing. 

"  I  wish  you  every  sort  of  success,  Kraft,"  I  said,  as  I  went 
out  on  to  the  stairs. 

"  That's  as  it  may  be,"  he  answered  firmly, 

"  Till  we  meet  again." 

"  That's  as  it  may  be,  too." 

I  remember  his  last  glance  at  me. 


And  this  was  the  man  for  whom  my  heart  had  been  beating 
all  those  years  !  And  what  had  I  expected  from  Kraft,  what 
new  information  ? 

As  I  came  away  from  Kraft's  I  felt  very  hungry.  It  was 
evening  and  I  had  had  no  dinner.  I  went  to  a  little  restaurant 
in  Great  Prospeot  that  I  might  not  have  to  spend  more  than 
twenty,  or  at  most  twenty-five,  kopecks — ^I  would  not  have 
allowed  myself  to  spend  more  at  that  time.  I  took  some  soup 
for  myself,  and  as  I  ate  it  I  sat  looking  out  of  window.  There 
were  a  great  many  people  in  the  room,  and  there  was  a  smell  of 
burnt  meat,  restaurant  napkins,  and  tobacco.  It  was  nasty. 
Over  my  head  a  dumb  nightingale,  gloomy  and  pensive,  was 

68 


pecking  at  the  bottom  of  its  cage.  There  was  a  noise  in  the 
adjoining  Ь1Шаг(1-гоот,  but  I  sat  there  and  sank  into  deep 
thought.  The  setting  sun  (why  was  Kraft  surprised  at  my  not 
liking  the  sunset  ?)  aroiised  in  me  a  new  and  unexpected  sensa- 
tion quite  out  of  keeping  with  my  surroundings.  I  was  haunted 
by  the  soft  look  in  my  mother's  eyes,  her  dear  eyes  which  had 
been  watching  me  so  timidly  the  whole  month.  Of  late  I  had 
been  very  rude  at  home,  to  her  especially.  I  had  a  desire  to  be 
rude  to  Versilov,  but  not  daring,  in  my  contemptible  way 
tormented  her  instead.  I  had  thoroughly  frightened  her,  in 
fact ;  often  she  looked  at  me  with  such  imploring  eyes  when 
Andrey  Petrovitch  came  in,  afraid  of  some  outburst  on  my 
part.  It  was  a  very  strange  thing  that,  sitting  here  in  the 
restaurant,  I  realized  for  the  first  time  that,  while  Versilov  spoke 
to  me  familiarly,  she  always  addressed  me  deferentially.  I 
had  wondered  at  it  before  and  had  not  been  impressed  in  her 
favour  by  it,  but  now  I  realized  it  particularly,  and  strange  ideas 
passed  one  after  another  through  my  brain.  I  sat  there  a  long 
time,  till  it  got  quite  dark.     I  thought  about  my  sister  too. 

It  was  a  fateful  moment  for  me.  At  all  costs  I  must  decide. 
Could  I  be  incapable  of  decision  ?  What  is  the  difficulty  of 
breaking  with  them  if  they  don't  want  me  either  ?  My  mother 
and  sister  ?  But  I  should  not  leave  them,  anyway,  however 
things  turned  out. 

It  is  true  that  the  entrance  of  that  man  into  my  life,  though 
only  for  an  instant  in  my  early  childhood,  was  the  turning- 
point  from  which  my  conscious  development  began.  Had  he 
not  met  mc;  then,  my  mind,  my  way  of  thinking,  my  fate,  would 
certainly  have  been  different,  even  in  spite  of  the  character 
ordained  me  by  destiny,  which  I  could  not  anyway  have  escaped. 

But  it  turned  out  that  this  man  was  only  a  dream,  the  dream 
of  my  childhood.  I  had  invented  him  myself,  and  in  reality 
he  was  a  different  man  who  fell  far  below  my  imagination.  I 
had  come  to  find  a  genuine  man,  not  a  man  like  this.  And  why 
had  I  fallen  in  love  with  him  once  and  for  ever  in  that  brief 
moment  when  I  saw  him  as  a  child  ?  That  "  for  ever  "  must 
vanish.  Some  time,  if  I  have  space  for  it,  I  will  describe  that 
meeting,  the  most  futile  incident  leading  up  to  nothing.  But 
I  had  built  it  up  into  a  pyramid.  I  had  begiin  building  that 
pyramid  as  I  lay  in  my  little  bed,  when,  falling  asleep,  I  could 
dream  and  weep — ^what  for  I  cannot  tell.  Because  I  had  been 
abandoned  ?     Because    I    was    tormented  ?     But    I    was    only 


tormented  a  little,  and  only  for  two  years  at  Touchard's,  the 
school  into  which  he  thrust  me  before  leaving  me  for  ever. 
Afterwards  no  one  tormented  me  ;  quite  the  contrary  ;  I  looked 
scornfully  at  my  schoolfellows.  And  I  can't  endure  the  self-pity 
of  the  forlorn.  There  is  no  role  more  revolting  than  that  of  the 
orphan,  the  illegitimate,  the  outcast  and  all  such  wretched 
creatures,  for  whom  I  never  feel  any  pity  when  they  solemnly 
parade  before  the  public  and  begin  piteously  but  insistently 
whining  of  how  they  have  been  treated.  I  could  beat  them  all ! 
Will  none  of  the  filthy,  conventional  herd  understand  that  it 
would  be  ten  times  as  creditable  to  hold  their  tongues,  not  to 
whine  and  not  to  deign  to  complain  !  And  if  he  does  deign  he 
deserves  his  fate,  the  bastard.    That's  my  view  ! 

But  what  is  absurd  is  not  that  I  used  to  dream  of  him  in  my 
little  bed  but  that,  almost  forgetting  my  chief  object,  I  have 
come  here  for  the  sake  of  him,  of  that  "  imagined  "  man,  I 
have  come  to  help  him  to  stamp  out  a  calumny,  to  crush  his 
enemies.  The  document  of  which  Kraft  had  spoken,  that 
woman's  letter  to  Andronikov  about  which  she  was  so  afraid, 
which  might  ruin  her  and  reduce  her  to  poverty,  which  she 
supposed  to  be  in  Versilov's  hands,  was  not  in  his  possession 
but  in  mine,  sewn  up  in  my  coat  pocket !  I  had  sewn  it  there 
myself,  and  no  one  in  the  whole  world  knew  of  it.  The  fact  that 
the  romantic  Marie  Ivanovna,  in  whose  keeping  the  letter  was 
left  "  to  be  preserved,"  thought  fit  to  give  it  to  me  and  to  no 
one  else  was  only  her  own  idea  and  a  matter  for  her  to  decide, 
which  I  am  not  called  upon  to  explain,  though  I  may  discuss  it 
later  if  it  seems  appropriate.  But,  armed  with  this  unexpected 
weapon,  I  could  not  help  yielding  to  the  temptation  to  come  to 
Petersburg.  Of  course,  I  proposed  to  assist  this  man  secretly 
without  display  or  excitement,  without  expecting  his  praise  or 
his  embraces.  And  never,  never  would  I  condescend  to  reproach 
him  for  anything.  And  indeed,  was  it  his  fault  that  I  had  fallen 
in  love  with  him  and  had  created  a  fantastic  ideal  of  him  ? 
Though,  indeed,  I  did  not  perhaps  love  him  at  all  !  His  original 
mind,  his  interesting  character,  his  intrigues  and  adventures, 
and  what  my  mother  had  been  to  him — all  that,  it  seemed 
could  not  keep  me.  It  was  enough  that  my  fantastic  doll  was 
shattered,  and  that  I  could  not,  perhaps,  love  him  any  more. 
And  so  what  was  keeping  me  ?  why  was  I  sticking  there  ? — 
that  was  the  question.  The  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  only  I 
was  a  fool,  no  one  else. 

70 


But,  expecting  honesty  from  others,  I  will  be  honest  myself. 
I  must  confess  that  the  letter  sewn  up  in  my  pocket  did  not 
only  arouse  in  me  the  passionate  desire  to  rush  to  Versilov's 
aid.  Now  it  is  quite  clear  to  me,  and  even  then  J  thought  of 
it  with  a  blush.  I  had  visions  of  a  woman — a  proud,  aristocratic 
creature — ^whom  I  should  meet  face  to  face.  She  would  laugh 
at  me,  despise  me,  as  though  I  were  a  mouse ;  she  would  not 
even  suspect  that  her  future  was  in  my  power.  This  idea 
intoxicated  me  even  in  Moscow,  and  still  more  in  the  train  on 
the  way ;  I  have  confessed  this  already.  Yes,  I  hated  that 
woman,  but  already  I  loved  her  as  my  victim  ;  and  all  this  was 
true,  all  this  was  real.  But  this  was  childishness  which  I  should 
not  have  expected  even  from  anyone  like  me.  I  am  describing 
my  feelings  then,  that  is,  what  passed  through  my  mind  as  I 
sat  in  the  restaurant  under  the  nightingale  and  made  up  my 
mind  to  break  with  them  for  ever.  The  memory  of  my  recent 
meeting  with  that  woman  sent  a  rush  of  colour  to  my  face.  An 
ignominious  meeting  !  An  ignominious  and  stupid  impression, 
and — ^what  mattered  most — ^it  showed  my  incapacity  for  action. 
It  proved — I  thought  then — ^that  I  was  not  strong  enough  to 
withstand  the  stupidest  lure,  though  I  told  Kraft  myself  just 
now  thatlhsul  my  place  "within  myself,"  and  work  of  my  own, 
and  that  if  I  had  three  lives  they  wouldn't  be  enough  for  me. 
I  said  that  proudly.  My  having  abandoned  my  idea  and  mixed 
myself  up  with  Versilov's  affairs  was  to  some  extent  excusable, 
but  that  I  should  run  from  side  to  side  like  a  frightened  hare 
and  be  drawn  into  every  trifle — that,  of  course,  was  simply 
my  own  folly.  What  induced  me  to  go  to  Dergatchev's  and 
to  burst  out  with  my  imbecilities,  though  I  knew  long  ago 
that  I  am  incapable  of  saying  anj^hing  cleverly  or  sensibly, 
that  it  is  always  better  for  me  to  be  silent  ?  And  some  Vassin 
or  other  reassures  me  with  the  reflection  that  I've  fifty  years  of 
life  ahead  of  me  and  so  I've  no  need  to  worry.  It  was  a  good 
reply,  I  admit,  and  did  credit  to  his  unmistakable  intelligence  ; 
it  was  good  because  it  was  the  simplest,  and  what  is  simplest  is 
never  understood  till  the  last,  when  everything  that  is  cleverer 
or  stupider  has  been  tried  already.  But  I  knew  that  answer 
before  Vassin  ;  I'd  had  an  inkling  of  that  thought  more  than 
three  years  ago  ;  what's  more,  my  "  idea  "  was  to  some  extent 
included  in  it.     Such  were  my  reflections  in  the  restaurant. 

.  I  felt  disgusted  as  I  made  my  way  towards  Semyonovsky  Polk 
at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  worn  out  with  walking  and  with 

71 


thinking.  It  was  quite  dark  by  then  and  the  weather  had 
changed  ;  it  was  dry,  but  a  horrid  Petersburg  wind  had  sprung 
up,  blowing  keenly  and  malignantly  on  my  back  and  whirUng 
up  the  dust  and  sand.  How  many  sullen  faces  of  poor  people 
hurrying  home  to  their  comers  from  work  and  trade  !  Every 
one  had  his  own  sullen  anxiety  in  his  face,  and  there  was  perhaps 
not  one  common  uniting  thought  in  the  crowd  !  Kraft  was 
right ;  every  one  was  different.  I  met  a  httle  boy,  so  little 
that  it  was  strange  he  could  be  out  alone  in  the  street  at  that 
hour  ;  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his  way.  A  peasant- woman 
stopped  for  a  minute  to  listen  to  him,  but,  not  understanding 
what  he  said,  waved  her  hand  and  wenf  on,  leaving  him  alone 
in  the  darkness.  I  was  going  towards  him,  but  he  suddenly 
took  fright  and  ran  away. 

As  I  approached  the  house  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  should 
never  go  and  see  Vassin.  I  had  an  intense  longing  as  I  went 
up  the  stairs  to  find  them  at  home  alone,  without  Versilov,  that 
I  might  have  time  before  he  came  in  to  say  something  nice  to 
my  mother  or  to  my  dear  sister,  to  whom  I  had  scarcely  said 
anything  particular  all  that  month.  It  so  happened  that  he 
was  not  at  home. 


By  the  way,  as  I  am  bringing  on  to  the  scene  this  "  new 
character  "  (I  am  speaking  of  Versilov),  I  will  introduce  briefly 
a  formal  account  of  him,  though  it  is  of  no  significance.  I  do 
this  to  make  things  more  comprehensible  for  the  reader,  and 
because  I  can't  foresee  where  this  account  could  fit  in  in  the 
later  part  of  my  story. 

He  studied  at  the  imiversity  but  went  into  a  cavalry  regiment 
of  the  guards.  He  married  Mile.  Fanariotov  and  retired  from 
the  army.  He  went  abroad,  and  on  his  return  lived  a  life  of 
worldly  gaiety  in  Moscow.  On  his  wife's  death  he  spent  some 
time  in  the  country  ;  then  came  the  episode  with  my  mother. 
Then  he  lived  for  a  long  time  somewhere  in  the  south.  During 
the  war  with  Europe  he  served  in  the  army  but  did  not  reach 
the  Crimea  and  was  never  in  action.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
war  he  left  the  service  and  went  abroad.  He  took  my  mother 
with  him,  though  he  left  her  at  Konigsberg,  The  poor  woman 
used  sometimes,  shaking  her  head,  to  tell  with  a  sort  of  horror 
how  she  had  spent  six  months  there  with  her  little  girl,  not 
knowing  the  language,   absolutely  friendless,  and  in  the  end 

72 


penniless,  as  though  she  were  lost  in  a  forest.  Then  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  came  to  fetch  her  and  took  her  back  to  some  place  in 
the  Novgorod  Province.  Then,  on  the  emancipation  of  the 
serfs,  Versilov  became  one  of  the  first  "  mediators,"  and  is  said 
to  have  performed  his  duties  admirably  ;  but  he  soon  gave  this 
up,  and  in  Petersburg  was  occupied  with  the  conduct  of  various 
private  lawsuits.  Andronikov  always  had  a  high  opinion  of 
his  capacity  ;  he  had  a  great  respect  for  him,  and  only  said 
he  did  not  understand  his  character.  Then  Versilov  gave  that 
up  too,  and  went  abroad  again — this  time  for  a  long  period, 
several  years.  Then  came  his  close  intimacy  with  old  Prince 
Sokolsky.  During  this  period  his  financial  position  underwent 
two  or  three  radical  changes.  At  one  time  he  fell  into  complete 
poverty,  then  grew  wealthy  and  rose  again. 

Having  brought  my  story  to  this  point,  I  am  determined  to 
describe  my  "  idea  "  too.  For  the  first  time  since  its  conception 
I  will  translate  it  into  words.  I  am  determined  to  reveal  it,  so 
to  speak,  to  the  reader,  partly  for  the  sake  of  greater  clearness 
in  what  I  have  to  explain  further.  And  it  is  not  only  confusing 
for  the  reader  ;  even  I,  the  author,  am  beginning  to  get  muddled 
by  the  difficulty  of  explaining  each  step  without  explaining  what 
led  up  to  it  and  induced  me  to  take  it.  By  keeping  up  this 
"  attitude  of  silence  "  I  have  clumsily  descended  to  one  of  those 
"  literary  graces  "  which  I  have  ridiculed  above.  Before  entering 
upon  my  Petersburg  romance  with  all  my  ignominious  adventures 
in  it,  I  find  this  preface  is  necessary.  But  I  was  not  tempted  to 
silence  for  the  sake  of  literary  "  grace  "  but  was  forced  to  it 
by  the  nature  of  the  case,  that  is,  the  difficulty  of  the  case  ;  even 
now,  when  it  is  all  over,  I  find  it  very  difficult  to  put  this  idea 
into  words.  Besides,  I  must  describe  it  in  its  aspect  at  that 
time,  that  is,  the  form  it  took  and  the  way  I  looked  at  it,  not 
now,  but  then,  and  that  is  a  fresh  difficulty.  To  describe  some 
things  is  almost  impossible.  The  ideas  that  are  the  simplest 
and  the  clearest  are  the  most  difficult  to  understand.  If  before 
the  discovery  of  America  Columbus  had  begun  telling  his  idea 
to  other  people,  1  am  convinced  that  for  a  very  long  time  people 
would  not  have  imderstood  him.  And  indeed  they  did  not 
understand  him .  I  don't  mean  to  compare  myself  with  Columbus, 
and  if  anyone  imagines  that  I  do  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
himself,  that's  all. 


73 


CHAPTER  V 

1 

My  "  idea  "  is — to  become  a  Rothschild.  I  invite  the  reader  to 
keep  calm  and  not  to  excite  himself. 

I  repeat  it.  My  "  idea  "  is  to  become  a  Rothschild,  to  become 
as  rich  as  Rothschild,  not  simply  rich,  but  as  rich  as  Rothschild. 
What  objects  I  have  in  view,  what  for,  and  why — all  that  shall 
come  later.  First  I  will  simply  show  that  the  attainment  of 
my  object  is  a  mathematical  certainty. 

It  is  a  very  simple  matter  ;  the  whole  secret  lies  in  two  words  : 
obstinacy  and  perseverance. 

"  We  have  heard  that ;  it's  nothing  new,"  people  will  tell  me. 
Every  "  vater,^*  in  Germany  repeats  this  to  his  children,  and 
meanwhile  your  Rothschild  (James  Rothschild  the  Parisian, 
is  the  one  I  mean)  is  unique  while  there  are  millions  of  such 
"  vatersr 

I  should  answer  : 

"  You  assert  that  you've  heard  it,  but  you've  heard  nothing. 
It's  true  that  you're  right  about  one  thing.  When  I  said  that 
this  was  '  very  simple,'  I  forgot  to  add  that  it  is  most  difficult. 
All  the  religions  and  the  moralities  of  the  world  amount  to 
one  thing  :  '  Love  virtue  and  avoid  vice.'  One  would  think 
nothing  could  be  simpler.  But  just  try  doing  something  virtuous 
and  giving  up  any  one  of  your  vices  ;  just  try  it.  It's  the  same 
with  this. 

"  That's  why  your  innumerable  German  '  vaters  '  may,  for 
ages  past  reckoning,  have  repeated  those  two  wonderful  words 
which  contain  the  whole  secret,  and,  meanwhile,  Rothschild 
remains  imique.  It  shows  it's  the  same  but  not  the  same,  and 
these  '  vaters  '  don't  repeat  the  same  idea. 

"  No  doubt  they  too  have  heard  of  obstinacy  and  perseverance, 
but  to  attain  my  object  what  I  need  is  not  these  German 
'  vaters^  '  obstinacy  or  these  '  vaters' '  perseverance." 

"  The  mere  fact  that  he  is  a  '  vater  ' — I  don't  mean  only  the 
Germans — that  he  has  a  family,  that  he  is  living  like  other 
people,  has  expenses  like  other  people,  has  obligations  like  other 
people,  means  that  he  can't  become  a  Rothschild,  but  must 
remain  an  average  man.      I  understand  quite  clearly  that  in 

74 


becoming  a  Rothschild,  or  merely  desiring  to  become  one,  not 
in  the  German  '  vaters'  '  way  but  seriously,  I  must  at  the  same 
time  cut  myself  off  from  society." 

Some  years  ago  I  read  in  the  newspaper  that  on  one  of  the 
steamers  on  the  Volga  there  died  a  beggar  who  went  about  beg- 
ging in  rags  and  was  known  to  every  one.  On  his  death  they 
foimd  sewn  up  in  his  shirt  three  thousand  roubles  in  notes. 
The  other  day  I  read  of  another  beggar  of  the  "  respectable  " 
sort,  who  used  to  go  about  the  restamrants  holding  out  his  hand. 
He  was  arrested  and  there  was  foxmd  on  him  five  thousand 
roubles.  Two  conclusions  follpw  directly  from  this.  The  first, 
that  obstinacy  in  saving  even  the  smallest  coin  will  produce 
enormous  results  in  the  long  rim  (time  is  of  no  account  in  this), 
and  secondly  that  the  most  unskilful  form  of  accumulation  if 
only  persevering  is  mathematically  certain  of  success. 

Meanwhile  there  are  perhaps  a  good  number  of  respectable, 
clever,  obstinate  people  who  cannot  save  either  three  or  five 
thousand,  however  much  they  struggle,  though  they  would  be 
awfully  glad  to  have  such  a  sum.  Why  is  that  ?  The  answer 
is  clear :  it  is  because  not  one  of  them,  in  spite  of  all  their  wishing 
it,  desires  it  to  such  a  degree  that,  for  instance,  if  he  is  not  able 
to  save  by  other  means,  he  is  ready  to  become  a  beggar,  and  so 
persistent  that  after  becoming  a  beggar,  he  will  not  waste  the 
first  farthing  he  is  given  on  an  extra  crust  of  bread  for  himself 
or  his  family.  With  this  system  of  saving,  that  is  in  beggary, 
one  must  live  on  bread  and  salt  and  nothing  more,  to  save  up 
such  sums  ;  at  least,  so  I  imagine.  That  is  no  doubt  what  the 
two  beggars  I  have  mentioned  above  did  do  ;  they  must  have 
eaten  nothing  but  bread  and  have  lived  almost  in  the  open  air. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  they  had  no  intention  of  becoming 
Rothschilds  ;  they  were  simply  Harpagons  or  Ilyushkins  in 
their  purest  form,  nothing  more  ;  but,  when  there  is  intelligent 
accumulation  in  quite  a  different  form  with  the  object  of  be- 
coming a  Rothschild,  no  less  strength  of  will  is  needed  than  in  the 
case  of  those  two  beggars.  The  Oerman  "  vater "  does  not 
show  such  strength  of  will.  There  are  many  kinds  of  strength 
in  the  world,  especially  of  strength  of  will  and  of  desire.  There 
is  the  temperature  of  boiling  water  and  there  is  the  temperature 
of  molten  iron. 

One  wants  here  the  same  thing  as  in  a  mona^stery,  the  same 
heroic  asceticism.  Feeling  is  wanted,  not  only  idea.  What 
for  ?     W^y  1     Is  it  moral  and  not  monstrous  to  wear  sackcloth 

75 


and  eat  black  bread  all  one's  life  to  heap  up  filthy  lucre  ?  These 
questions  I  will  consider  later.  Now  I  am  discussing  only  the 
possibility  of  attaining  the  object.  When  I  thought  of  my 
"  idea  "  and  it  was  forged  in  white  heat,  I  began  asking  myself — 
am  I  capable  of  asceticism  ?  With  this  object,  for  the  whole  of 
the  first  month  I  took  bread  and  water,  not  more  than  two  and 
a  half  poimds  of  black  bread  a  day.  To  do  this  I  was  obliged 
to  deceive  Nikolay  Semyonovitch  who  was  clever,  and  Marie 
Ivanovna  who  was  anxious  for  my  welfare.  Though  I  wounded 
her  and  somewhat  surprised  Nikolaj'  Semyonovitch  who  was  a 
man  of  great  delicacy,  I  insisted  on  having  my  dinner  brought 
to  my  room.  There  I  simply  got  rid  of  it.  I  poured  the  soup 
out  of  window  on  to  the  nettles  or  elsewhere,  the  meat  I  either 
flung  out  of  window  to  a  dog,  or  wrapping  it  up  in  paper  put 
it  in  my  pocket  and  threw  it  away  after,  and  so  on.  As  the 
bread  given  me  for  dinner  was  much  less  than  two  and  a  half 
pounds  I  bought  bread  on  the  sly.  I  stood  this  for  a  month 
perhaps,  only  upsetting  my  stomach  a  little,  but  the  next  month 
I  added  soup  to  the  bread  and  drank  a  glass  of  tea  morning  and 
evening,  and  I  assure  you  I  passed  a  year  like  that  in  perfect 
health  and  content,  as  well  as  in  a  moral  ecstasy  and  perpetual 
secret  delight.  Far  from  regretting  the  dainties  I  missed,  I  was 
overjoyed.  At  the  end  of  the  year,  having  convinced  myself 
I  was  capable  of  standing  any  fast,  however  severe,  I  began 
eating  as  they  did,  and  went  back  to  dine  with  them.  Not  satis- 
fied with  this  experiment  I  made  a  second  ;  apart  from  the  sum 
paid  to  Nikolay  Semyonovitch  for  my  board  I  was  allowed 
five  roubles  a  month  for  pocket  money.  I  resolved  to  spend 
only  half.  This  was  a  very  great  trial,  but  after  at  most  two 
years  I  had  in  my  pocket  by  the  time  I  went  to  Petersburg 
seventy  roubles  saved  entirely  in  this  way,  besides  other  money. 
The  result  of  these  two  experiments  was  of  vast  importance  to 
me  :  I  had  learnt  positively  that  I  could  so  will  a  thing  as  to 
attain  my  objects,  and  that  I  repeat  is  the  essence  of  "  my  idea  " 
— the  rest  is  all  nonsense. 


Let  us,  however,  look  into  the  nonsense  too. 

I  have  described  my  two  experiments.  In  Petersburg,  as 
the  reader  knows,  I  made  a  third.  I  went  to  the  auction  and 
at  one  stroke  made  a  profit  of  seven  roubles  ninety-five  kopecks. 
This  of  course  was  not  a  real  experiment,  it  was  only  by  way  of 

76 


sport  and  diversion.  I  simply  wanted  to  filch  a  moment  from 
the  future,  and  to  test  how  I  should  go  and  behave.  I  had 
decided  even  at  the  very  first,  in  Moscow,  to  put  oflf  really  be- 
ginning till  I  was  perfectly  free.  I  fully  realized .  that  I  must, 
for  instance,  finish  my  work  at  school.  (The  imiversity,  as  the 
reader  knows  already,  I  sacrificed.)  There  is  no  disputing  that 
I  went  to  Petersburg  with  concealed  anger  in  my  heart.  No 
sooner  had  I  left  the  grammar  school  and  become  free  for  the 
first  time,  than  I  suddenly  saw  that  Versilov's  affairs  would 
distract  me  from  beginning  my  enterprise  for  an  indefinite 
period.  But  though  I  was  angry  I  went  to  Petersburg  feeling 
perfectly  serene  about  my  object. 

It  is  true  I  knew  nothing  of  practical  life  ;  but  I  had  been 
thinking  about  it  for  three  years  and  could  have  no  doubt  about 
it.  I  had  pictured  a  thousand  times  over  how  I  should  begin. 
I  should  suddenly  find  myself,  as  though  dropped  from  the 
clouds,  in  one  of  our  two  capitals  (I  pitched  on  Petersburg  or 
Moscow  for  my  beginning,  and  by  choice  Petersburg,  to  which 
I  gave  the  preference  through  certain  considerations),  perfectly 
free,  not  dependent  on  anyone,  in  good  health,  and  with  a 
hundred  roubles  hidden  in  my  pocket,  as  the  capital  for  my  first 
investment.  Without  a  hundred  roubles  it  would  be  impossible 
to  begin,  as,  without  it,  even  the  earliest  period  of  success  would 
be  too  remote.  Apart  from  my  hundred  roubles  I  should  have, 
as  the  reader  knows  already,  courage,  obstinacy,  perseverance, 
absolute  isolation  and  secrecy.  Isolation  was  the  principal 
thing.  I  greatly  disliked  the  idea  of  any  connection  or  association 
with  others  until  the  last  moment.  Speaking  generally  I  pro- 
posed beginning  my  enterprise  alone,  that  was  a  sine  qua  поп. 
People  weigh  upon  me,  and  with  them  I  should  have  been  uneasy, 
and  uneasiness  would  have  hindered  my  success.  Generally 
speaking,  all  my  life  up  to  now,  in  all  my  dreams  of  how  I  would 
behave  with  people,  I  always  imagined  myself  being  very  clever  ; 
it  was  very  different  in  reality — I  was  always  very  stupid  ;  and 
I  confess  sincerely,  with  indignation,  I  always  gave  myself  away 
and  was  flustered,  and  so  I  resolved  to  cut  people  off  altogether. 
I  should  gain  by  it  independence,  tranquilhty  of  mind  and 
clearness  of  motive. 

In  spite  of  the  terrible  prices  in  Petersburg  I  determined  once 
for  all  that  I  should  never  spend  more  than  fifteen  kopecks  on 
food,  and  I  knew  I  should  keep  my  word.  This  question  of 
food  I  had  thought  over  minutely  for  a  long  time  past.     I 

77 


resolved,  for  instance,  sometimes  to  eat  nothing  but  bread  and 
salt  for  two  days  together,  and  to  spend  on  the  third  day  what 
I  had  saved  on  those  two  days.  I  fancied  that  this  would  be 
better  for  my  health  than  a  perpetual  uniform  fast  on  a  minimum 
of  fifteen  kopecks.  Then  I  needed  a  comer,  literally  a  "  corner," 
solely  to  sleep  the  night  in  and  to  have  a  refuge  in  very  bad 
weather.  I  proposed  living  in  the  street,  and,  if  necessary,  I 
was  ready  to  sleep  in  one  of  the  night  refuges  where  they  give 
you  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  glass  of  tea  as  well  as  a  night's  lodging. 
Oh,  I  should  be  quite  capable  of  hiding  my  money  so  that  it 
sho<uld  not  be  stolen  in  the  "  corner,"  or  in  the  refuge,  and  should 
not  even  be  suspected,  I'll  answer  for  that ! 

"  Steal  from  me  ?  Why,  I'm  afraid  of  stealing  myself  !  "  I 
once  heard  a  passer-by  in  the  street  say  gaUy.  Of  coiirse  I 
only  apply  to  myself  the  caution  and  smartness  of  it,  I  don't 
intend  to  steal.  What  is  more,  while  I  was  in  Moscow,  perhaps 
from  the  very  first  day  of  my  "  idea,"  I  resolved  that  I  would 
not  be  a  pawnbroker  or  usurer  either  ;  there  are  Jews  for  that 
job,  and  such  Russians  as  have  neither  intelligence  nor  character. 
Ралуп broking  and  usury  are  for  the  commonplace. 

As  for  clothes,  I  resolved  to  have  two  suits,  one  for  every  day 
and  one  for  best.  When  once  I  had  got  them  I  felt  sure  I  should 
wear  them  a  long  time.  I  purposely  trained  myself  to  wear  a 
suit  for  two  and  a  half  years,  and  in  fact  I  discovered  a  secret : 
for  clothes  always  to  look  new  ajtid  not  to  get  shabby  they  should 
be  brushed  as  often  as  possible,  five  or  six  times  a  day.  Briishing 
does  not  hurt  the  cloth.  I  speak  from  knowledge.  What  does 
hiu't  it  is  dust  and  dirt.  Dust  is  the  same  thing  as  stones  if  you 
look  at  it  through  the  microscope,  and,  however  hard  a  brush 
is,  it  is  almost  the  same  as  fur.  I  trained  myself  to  wear  my 
boots  evenly.  The  secret  lies  in  putting  down  the  whole  sole 
at  once,  and  avoiding  treading  on  the  side.  One  can  train 
oneself  to  this  in  a  fortnight,  after  that  the  habit  is  imconscious. 
In  this  way  boots  last  on  an  average  a  third  as  long  again.  That  is 
the  experience  of  two  years.* 

Then  followed  my  activity  itself. 

I  started  with  the  hypothesis  that  I  had  a  hundred  roubles. 
In  Petersburg  there  are  so  many  auction  sales,  petty  hucksters' 
booths  and  people  who  want  things,  that  it  would  be  impossible 
not  to  sell  anything  one  bought  for  a  little  more.  Over  the 
album  I  had  made  seven  roubles  ninety-five  kopecks  profit 
on  two  roubles  five  kopecks  of  capital  invested.     This  immense 

78 


profit  was  made  without  any  risk  :  I  could  see  from  his  eyes  that 
the  purchaser  would  not  back  out.  Of  course  I  know  quite  well 
that  this  was  only  a  chance  ;  but  it  is  just  such  chances  I  am  on 
the  look-out  for,  that  is  why  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  live  in  the 
street.  Well,  granted  that  such  a  chance  is  unusual,  no  matter ; 
my  first  principle  will  be  to  risk  nothing,  and  the  second  to  make 
every  day  more  than  the  minimum  spent  on  my  subsistence, 
that  the  process  of  accumulation  may  not  be  interrupted  for  a 
single  day. 

I  shall  be  told  that  "  all  this  is  a  dream,  you  don't  know  the 
streets,  and  you'll  be  taken  in  at  the  first  step."  But  I  have  will 
and  character,  and  the  science  of  the  streets  is  a  science  Uke  any 
other :  persistence,  attention  and  capacity  can  conquer  it.  In 
the  grammar  school  right  up  to  the  seventh  form  I  was  one  of  the 
first ;  I  was  very  good  at  mathematics.  Why,  can  one  possibly 
exaggerate  the  value  of  experience  and  knowledge  of  the  streets 
to  such  a  fantastic  pitch  as  to  predict  my  failure  for  certain  ? 
That  is  only  what  people  say  who  have  never  made  an  experiment 
in  anything,  have  never  begun  any  sort  of  life,  but  have  grown 
stifE  in  second-hand  stagnation.  "  One  man  breaks  his  nose, 
so  another  must  break  his."  No,  I  won't  break  mine.  I  have 
character  and  if  I  pay  attention  I  can  learn  anything.  But  is  it 
possible  to  imagine  that  with  constant  persistence,  with  incessant 
vigilance,  and  continual  calculation  and  reflection,  with  perpetual 
activity  and  alertness  one  could  fail  to  find  out  how  to  make 
twenty  kopecks  to  spare  every  day  ?  Above  all  I  resolved  not 
to  struggle  for  the  maximum  profit,  but  always  to  keep  calm. 
As  time  went  on  after  heaping  up  one  or  two  thousand  I  should, 
of  course,  naturally  rise  above  second-hand  dealing  and  street 
trading.  T  know,  of  course,  far  too  little  as  yet  about  the  stock 
exchange,  about  shares,  banking  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But 
to  make  up  for  that  I  know,  as  I  know  I  have  five  fingers  on  my 
hand,  that  I  should  learn  all  the  stock  exchange  and  banking 
business  as  well  as  anyone  else,  and  that  the  subject  would  turn 
out  to  be  perfectly  simple,  because  one  is  brought  to  it  by  practice. 
What  need  is  there  of  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  so  long  as  one  has 
character  ;  efficiency,  skiU  and  knowledge  come  of  themselves. 
If  only  one  does  not  leave  off  "  willing." 

The  great  thing  is  to  avoid  risks,  and  that  can  only  be  done 
if  one  has  character.  Not  long  ago  in  Petersburg  I  had  before 
me  a  subscription  list  of  shares  in  some  railwaj'  investments ; 
those  who  succeeded  in  getting  shares  made  a  lot  of  money. 

79 


For  some  time  the  shares  went  up  and  up.  Well,  if  one  day 
some  one  who  had  not  succeeded  in  getting  a  share,  or  was 
greedy  for  more,  had  offered  to  buy  mine  at  a  premium  of  so 
much  per  cent.,  I  should  certainly  have  sold  it.  People  would 
have  laughed  at  me,  of  course,  and  have  said  that  if  I  had  waited 
I  should  have  made  ten  times  as  much.  Quite  so,  but  my 
premium  is  safer,  for  it's  a  bird  in  the  hand  while  yours  is  on  the 
bush.  I  shall  be  told  that  one  can't  make  much  like  that ; 
excuse  me,  that's  your  mistake,  the  mistake  of  all  our  Kokorevs, 
Polyakovs,  and  Gubonins.  Let  me  tell  you  the  truth  ;  per- 
sefverance  and  persistence  in  money  making  and  still  more  in 
saving  is  much  more  effective  than  these  cent,  per  cent,  profits. 
Not  long  before  the  French  Revolution  there  was  a  man  called 
Law  in  Paris  who  invented  of  himself  a  scheme  what  was  theo- 
retically magnificent  but  which  came  utterly  to  grief  in  practice 
afterwards.  АД  Paris  was  in  excitement.  Law's  shares  were 
bought  up  at  once  before  allotment.  Money  from  all  parts  of 
Paris  poured  as  from  a  sack  into  the  house  where  the  shares 
were  subscribed.  But  the  house  was  not  enough  at  last,  the 
public  thronged  the  street,  people  of  all  callings,  all  classes,  all 
ages  :  bourgeois,  noblemen,  their  children,  countesses,  marquises, 
prostitutes,  were  all  struggling  in  one  infuriated,  half -crazy,  rabid 
mob.  Rank,  the  prejudices  of  birth  and  pride,  even  honour  and 
good  name  were  all  trampled  in  the  same  mire ;  all,  even  women, 
were  ready  to  sacrifice  anyone  to  gain  a  few  shares.  The  list  at 
last  was  passed  down  into  the  streets,  but  there  was  nothing  to 
VkTite  on.  Then  it  was  suggested  to  a  hunchback  that  he  should 
lend  his  back  for  the  time  as  a  table  on  which  people  could  sign 
their  names  for  shares.  The  hunchback  agreed — one  can  fancy 
at  what  a  price.  Some  time  (a  very  short  time)  after,  they  were 
all  bankrupt,  the  whole  thing  went  smash,  the  whole  idea  was 
exploded  and  the  shares  were  worth  nothing.  Who  got  the  best 
of  it  ?  Why,  the  hunchback,  because  he  did  not  take  shares  but 
louis-d'or  in  cash.  Well,  I  am  that  hunchback  !  I  had  strength 
of  will  enough  not  to  eat,  and  to  save  seventy-two  roubles  out 
of  my  kopecks ;  I  shall  have  strength  enough  to  restrain  myself  and 
prefer  a  safe  profit  to  a  large  one,  even  when  every  one  aroimd  me 
is  carried  away  by  a  fever  of  excitement.  I  am  trivial  only 
about  trifles,  not  in  what  is  important.  I  have  often  lacked 
fortitude  for  enduring  little  things  ever  since  the  inception  of 
my  idea,  but  for  enduring  big  things  I  shall  always  have  enough. 
When  in  the  morning  my  mother  gave  me  cold  coffee  before  I 

80 


set  out  to  work,  I  was  angry  and  rude  to  her,  and  yet  1  was  the 
same  person  who  had  Jived  a  whole  month  on  bread  and  water. 

In  short  not  to  make  money,  not  to  learn  how  to  make  money, 
would  be  uimatural.  It  would  be  unnatural,  too,  in  spite 
of  incessant  and  regular  saving,  unllaggmg  care  and  mental 
sobriety,  self-control,  economy,  and  growing  energy — it  would  be 
unnatural,  I  repeat,  to  fail  to  become  a  millionaire.  How  did 
the  beggar  make  his  money  if  not  by  fanatical  determination 
and  perseverance  ?  Am  I  inferior  to  a  beggar  ?  "  And  after 
all,  supposing  I  don't  arrive  at  anything,  suppose  my  calculation 
is  incorrect,  suppose  I  fail  and  come  to  grief ;  no  matter,  I  shall 
go  on,  I  shall  goon,  because  I  want  to."  That  is  what  I  said  in 
Moscow. 

I  shall  be  told  that  there  is  no  "  idea  "  in  this,  absolutely 
nothing  new.  But  I  say,  and  for  the  last  time,  that  there  are  an 
immense  number  of  ideas  in  it,  and  a  vast  amount  that  is  new. 

Oh,  I  foresaw  how  trivial  all  objections  would  be,  and  that  I 
should  be  as  trivial  myself  in  expounding  my  "  idea  "  :  why,  what 
have  I  said  after  all  ?  I  haven't  told  a  hundredth  part  of  it.  I 
feel  that  it  is  trivial,  superficial,  crude,  and,  somehow,  too  young 
for  my  age. 


I've  still  to  answer  the  questions,  "  What  for  ?  "  and  "  Why  1  " 
"  Whether  it's  moral,"  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I've  imdertaken 
to  answer  them. 

I  am  sad  at  disappointing  the  reader  straight  off,  sad  and 
glad  too.  Let  him  know  that  in  my  idea  there  is  absolutely 
no  feeling  of  "  revenge,"  nothing  "  Byxonic " — no  curses,  no 
lamentations  over  my  orphaned  state,  no  tears  over  my  illegiti- 
macy, nothing,  nothing  of  the  sort.  In  fact,  if  a  romantic  lady 
should  chance  to  come  across  my  autobiography  she  would 
certainly  turn  up  her  nose.  The  whole  object  of  my  "  idea  "  is — 
isolation.  But  one  can  arrive  at  isolation  without  straining  to 
become  a  Rothschild.     What  has  Rothschild  got  to  do  with  it  ? 

Why,  this.    That  besides  isolation  I  want  power. 

Let  me  tell  the  reader,  he  will  perhaps  be  horrified  at  the 
candour  of  my  confession,  and  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart  will 
wonder  how  the  author  could  help  blushing  :  but  my  answer  is 
that  I'm  not  writing  for  publication,  and  I  may  not  have  a 
reader  for  ten  years,  and  by  that  time  everything  will  be  so 
thoroughly  past,  settled  and  defined  that  there  will  be  no  need 

8i  *• 


to  blush.  And  80.  if  I  sometimes  in  my  autobiography  appeal 
to  my  reader  it  is  simply  a  form  of  expression.  My  reader  is  an 
imaginary  figure. 

No,  it  was  not  being  illegitimate,  with  which  I  was  so  taunted  at 
Touchard's,  not  my  sorrowful  childhood,  it  was  not  revenge,  nor 
the  desire  to  protest,  that  was  at  the  bottom  of  my  idea ;  my 
character  alone  was  responsible  for  everything.  At  twelve  years 
old,  I  believe,  that  is  almost  at  the  dawn  of  real  consciousness, 
I  began  to  dislike  my  fellow-creatures.  It  was  not  that  I 
disliked  them  exactly,  but  that  their  presence  weighed  upon  me. 
I  was  sometimes  in  my  moments  of  pxirest  sincerity  quite  sad 
that  I  never  could  express  everything  even  to  my  nearest  and 
dearest,  that  is,  I  could  but  will  not ;  for  some  reason  I  restrain 
myself,  so  that  I'm  mistrustful,  sullen  and  reserved.  Again,  I 
have  noticed  one  characteristic  in  myself  almost  from  childhood, 
that  I  am  too  ready  to  find  fault,  and  given  to  blaming  others. 
But  this  impulse  was  often  followed  at  once  by  another  which 
was  very  irksome  to  me  :  I  would  ask  myself  whether  it  were 
not  my  fault  rather  than  theirs.  And  how  often  I  blamed 
myself  for  nothing  !  To  avoid  such  doubts  I  naturally  sought 
solitude.  Besides,  I  found  nothing  in  the  company  of  others, 
however  much  I  tried,  and  I  did  try.  All  the  boys  of  my  own 
age  anyway,  all  my  schoolfellows,  all,  every  one  of  them,  turned 
out  to  be  inferior  to  me  in  their  ideas.  I  don't  recall  one  single 
exception. 

Yes,  I  am  a  gloomy  person  ;  I'm  always  shutting  myself  up. 
I  often  love  to  walk  out  of  a  room  full  of  people.  I  may  perhaps 
do  people  a  kindness,  but  often  I  cannot  see  the  slightest  reason 
for  doing  them  a  kindness.  People  are  not  such  splendid 
creatures  that  they  are  worth  taking  much  trouble  about.  Why 
can't  they  approach  me  openly  and  directly,  why  must  I  always 
be  forced  to  make  the  first  overtures  ? 

That  is  the  question  I  asked  myself.  I  am  a  grateful  creature, 
and  have  shown  it  by  a  hundred  imbeciUties.  If  some  one  were 
frank  with  me,  I  should  instantly  respond  with  frankness  and 
begin  to  love  them  at  once.  And  so  I  have  done,  but  they 
have  all  deceived  me  promptly,  and  have  withdrawn  from  me 
with  a  sneer.  The  most  candid  of  them  all  was  Lambert,  who 
beat  me  so  much  as  a  child,  but  he  was  only  an  open  brute  and 
scoundrel.  And  even  his  openness  was  only  stupidity.  Such 
was  my  state  of  mind  when  I  came  to  Petersburg. 

When  I  came  out  from  Dergatchev's   (and  goodness  only 

82 


knows  what  made  me  go  to  him)  I  had  gone  up  to  Vassin,  and 
in  a  rush  of  enthusiasm  I  had  begun  singing  his  praises.  And 
that  very  evening  I  felt  that  I  liked  him  much  less.  Why  ? 
Just  because  by  my  praise  of  him  I  had  demeaned  myself  before 
him.  Yet  one  might  have  thought  it  would  have  been  the  other 
way  •  a  man  just  and  generous  enough  to  give  another  his  due, 
even  to  his  own  detriment,  ought  to  stand  higher  in  personal 
dignity  than  anyone.  And  though  I  quite  understood  this,  I  did 
like  Vassin  less,  much  less  in  fact.  I  purposely  choose  an 
example  with  which  the  reader  is  familiar.  I  even  thought  of 
Kraft  with  a  bitter,  sickly  feeling,  because  he  had  led  me  into 
the  passage,  and  this  feeling  lasted  till  the  day  when  ICraft's 
state  of  mind  at  the  time  was  revealed,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  be  angry  with  him.  From  the  time  when  I  was  in  the-lowest 
class  in  the  grammar-school,  as  soon  as  any  of  my  comrades 
excelled  me  in  school  work,  or  witty  answers  or  physical  strength, 
I  immediately  gave  up  talking  or  havmg  anything  to  do  with 
them.  Not  that  I  disliked  them  or  wished  them  not  to  succeed  ; 
1  simply  turned  away  from  them  because  such  was  my  character. 

Yes,  I  thirsted  for  power,  I've  thirsted  for  it  all  my  life,  power 
and  solitude.  I  dreamed  of  it  at  an  age  when  every  one  would 
have  laughed  at  me  to  my  face  if  they  could  have  guessed  what 
was  in  my  head.  That  was  why  I  so  liked  secrecy.  And  indeed 
all  my  energy  went  into  dreams,  so  much  so  that  I  had  no  time 
to  talk.  This  led  to  my  being  unsociable,  and  my  absent- 
mindedness  led  people  to  more  unpleasant  conclusions  about  riae, 
but  my  rosy  cheeks  belied  their  suspicions. 

I  was  particularly  happy  when,  covering  myself  up  in  bed  at 
night,  I  began  in  complete  solitude,  with  no  stir  or  sound  of 
other  people  roimd  me,  to  re-create  life  on  a  different  plan.  I 
was  most  desperately  dreamy  up  to  the  time  of  the  "  idea," 
when  all  my  dreams  became  rational  instead  of  foolish,  and  passed 
Irom  the  fantastic  realms  of  romance  to  the  reasonable  world  of 
reality. 

Everything  was  concentrated  into  one  object.  Not  that  they 
were  so  very  stupid  before,  although  there  were  masses  and 
masses  of  them.  But  I  had  favourite."  .  .  there  is  no  need  to 
bring  them  in  here,  however. 

Power  !  I  am  convinced  that  very  many  people  would  think 
it  very  funny  if  they  knew  that  such  a  "  pitiful  "  creature  was 
struggling  for  power.  But  I  shall  surprise  them  even  more  : 
perhaps  from  my  very  first  dreams  that  is,  almost  from  my 

83 


earliest  childhood,  I  could  never  imagine  myself  except  in  the 
foremost  place,  always  and  in  every  situation  in  life.  I  will 
add  a  strange  confession  :  it  is  the  same  perhaps  to  this  day. 
At  the  same  time,  let  me  observe  that  I  am  not  apologizing 
for  it. 

That  is  the  point  of  my  idea,  that  is  the  force  of  it,  that  money 
is  the  one  means  by  which  the  humblest  nonentit}'  may  rise  to 
the  foremost  place.  I  may  not  be  a  nonentity,  but  I  know  from 
the  looking-glass  that  my  exterior  does  not  do  me  justice,  for 
my  face  is  commonplace.  But  if  I  were  as  rich  as  Rothschild, 
who  would  find  fault  with  my  face  ?  And  wouldn't  thousands 
of  women  be  ready  to  fly  to  me  with  all  their  charms  if  I  whistled 
to  them  ?  I  am  sure  that  they  луоиЫ  honestly  consider  me 
good-looking.  Suppose  I  am  clever.  But  were  I  as  wise  as 
Solomon  some  one  would  be  found  wiser  still,  and  I  should  be 
done  for.  But  if  I  were  a  Rothschild  what  Avould  that  wise  man 
be  beside  me  ?  Why,  they  would  not  let  him  say  a  word 
beside  me !  I  may  be  witty,  but  with  Talleyrand  or  Pii'on  I'm 
thrown  into  the  shade  ;  but  if  I  were  Rothschild,  where  would 
Piron  be,  and  where  Talleyrand  even,  perhaps  ?  Money  is,  of 
course,  despotic  power,  and  at  the  same  time  it  is  the  greatest 
leveller,  and  that  is  its  chief  power.  Money  levels  all  inequality. 
I  settled  all  that  in  Moscow. 

You  will  see,  of  course,  in  this  idea  nothing  but  insolence, 
violence,  the  triumph  of  the  nonentity  over  the  talented.  I 
admit  that  it  is  an  impudent  idea  (and  for  that  reason  a  sweet 
one).  But  let  it  pass  :  you  imagine  that  I  desire  power  to  be 
able  to  crush,  to  avenge  myself.  That  is  just  the  point,  that 
that  is  how  the  commonplace  would  behave.  What  is  more, 
I'm  convinced  that  thousands  of  the  wise  and  talented  who  are 
so  exalted,  if  the  Rothschilds'  millions  suddenly  fell  to  their  lot 
could  not  resist  behaving  like  the  most  vulgar  and  commonplace, 
and  would  be  more  oppressive  than  any.  My  idea  is  quite 
different.  I'm  not  afraid  of  money.  It  won't  crush  me  and  it 
won't  make  me  crush  others. 

What  I  want  isn't  money,  or  rather  money  is  not  necessary 
to  me,  nor  power  either.  I  only  want  what  is  obtained  by 
power,  and  cannot  be  obtained  without  it ;  that  is,  the  calm 
and  solitary  consciousness  of  strength  !  That  is  the  fullest 
definition  of  liberty  for  which  the  whole  world  is  struggling  ! 
Liberty  !  At  last  I  have  written  that  grand  word.  .  .  .  Yes, 
the  solitary  consciousness  of  strength  is  splendid  and  alluring. 

84 


I  have  strength  and  I  am  serene.  With  the  thunderbolts  in  his 
hands  Jove  is  serene  ;  are  his  thunders  often  heard  ?  The  fool 
fancies  that  he  is  asleep.  But  put  a  literary  man  or  a  peasant- 
woman  in  Jove's  place,  and  the  thimder  would  never  cease  ! 

If  I  only  have  power,  I  argued,  I  should  have  no  need  to  use 
it.  I  assure  you  that  of  my  own  free  will  I  should  take  the 
lowest  seat  everj^^here.  If  I  were  a  Rothschild,  I  would  go 
about  in  an  old  overcoat  with  an  umbrella.  What  should  I  care 
if  I  were  jostled  in  the  crowd,  if  I  had  to  skip  through  the  mud 
to  avoid  being  run  over  1  The  consciousness  that  I  was  myself, 
a  Rothschild,  would  even  amuse  me  at  the  moment.  I  should 
know  I  could  have  a  dinner  better  than  anyone,  that  I  could 
have  the  best  cook  in  the  world,  it  would  be  enough  for  me  to 
know  it.  I  woTild  eat  a  piece  of  bread  and  ham  and  be  satie-fied 
with  the  consciousness  of  it.     I  think  so  even  now. 

I  shouldn't  run  after  the  aristocracy,  but  they  would  run 
after  me.  I  shouldn't  pursue  women,  but  they  would  fly  to 
me  like  the  wind,  offering  me  all  that  women  can  offer.  "  The 
vulgar  "  run  after  money,  but  the  intelligent  are  attracted  by 
curiosity  to  the  strange,  proud  and  reserved  being,  indifferent 
to  everjrthing.  I  would  be  kind,  and  would  give  them  money 
perhaps,  but  I  would  take  nothing  from  them.  Curiosity  aroust  s 
passion,  perhaps  I  may  inspire  passion.  They  will  take  nothing 
away  with  them  I  assiu"e  you,  except  perhaps  presents  that  wi.ll 
make  me  twice  as  interesting  to  them. 

,  .  .  to  me  enough 

The  consciousness  of  this. 

It  is  strange,  but  true,  that  I  have  been  fascinated  by  this 
picture  since  I  was  seventeen. 

I  don't  want  to  oppress  or  torment  anyone  and  I  won't,  but  I 
know  that  if  I  did  want  to  ruin  some  man,  some  enemy  of  mine, 
no  one  could  prevent  me,  and  every  one  would  serve  me,  and 
that  would  be  enough  again.  I  would  not  revenge  myself  on 
anyone.  I  could  never  understand  how  James  Rothschild  could 
consent  to  become  a  Baron !  Why,  for  what  reason,  wIk  n  he 
was  already  more  exalted  than  anyone  in  the  world.  "  Oh,  let 
that  insolent  general  insult  me  at  the  station  where  we  are  both 
waiting  for  our  horses !  If  he  knew  who  I  was  he  луоиИ  run 
himself  to  harness  the  horses  and  would  hasten  to  assist  me 
into  my  modest  vehicle  !  They  say  that  some  foreign  count  or 
baron  at  a  Vienna  railway  station  put  an  Austrian  banker's 

S5 


slippers  on  for  him  in  public ;  and  the  latter  was  so  vulgar  as 
to  allow  him  to  do  it.  Oh,  may  that  terrible  beauty  (yes,  terrible, 
there  are  such  !),  that  daughter  of  that  luxurious  and  aristocratic 
lady  meeting  me  by  chance  on  a  steamer  or  somewhere,  glance 
askance  at  me  and  turn  up  her  nose,  wondering  contemptuously 
how  that  humble,  unpresentable  man  with  a  book  or  paper  in 
his  hand  could  dare  to  be  in  a  front  seat  beside  her  !  If  only  she 
knew  who  was  sitting  beside  her  !  And  she  will  find  out,  she 
will,  and  will  come  to  sit  beside  me  of  her  own  accord,  humble, 
timid,  ingratiating,  seeldng  my  glance,  radiant  at  my  smile."  .  .  . 
I  purposely  introduce  these  eariy  day-dreams  to  express  what 
was  in  my  mind.  But  the  picture  is  pale,  and  perhaps  trivial. 
Only  reality  will  justify  everything. 

I  shall  be  told  that  such  a  life  would  be  stupid  :  why  not  have 
a  mansion,  keep  open  house,  gather  society  round  you,  why  not 
have  influence,  why  not  marry  ?  But  what  would  Rothschild 
be  then  ?  He  would  become  like  every  one  else.  All  the  charm 
of  the  "  idea  "  would  disappear,  all  its  moral  force.  When  I 
was  quite  a  child  I  leamt  Pushkin's  monologue  of  the  "  Miserly 
Knight."  Pushkin  has  written  nothing  finer  in  conception  than 
that  !     I  have  the  same  ideas  now. 

"  But  yours  is  too  low  an  ideal,"  I  shall  be  told  with  contempt. 
"  Money,  wealth.  Very  different  from  the  common  weal,  from 
self-sacrifice  for  humanity." 

But  how  can  anyone  tell  how  I  should  use  my  wealth  1  In 
what  way  is  it  immoral,  in  what  way  is  it  degrading,  that  these 
millions  should  pass  out  of  dirty,  evil,  Jewish  hands  into  the 
hands  of  a  sober  and  resolute  ascetic  with  a  keen  outlook  upon 
life  1  All  these  dreams  of  the  future,  all  these  conjectures, 
seem  like  a  romance  now,  and  perhaps  I  am  wasting  time  in 
recording  them.  I  might  have  kept  them  to  myself.  I  know, 
too,  that  these  lines  will  very  likely  be  read  by  no  one,  but  if 
anyone  were  to  read  them,  would  he  believe  that  I  should  be 
unable  to  stand  the  test  of  the  Rothschild  millions  ?  Not 
because  they  would  crush  me,  quite  the  contrary.  More  than 
once  in  my  dreams  I  have  anticipated  that  moment  in  the 
future,  when  my  consciousness  wHl  be  satiated,  and  power  will 
not  seem  enough  for  me.  Then,  not  from  ennui,  not  from 
aimless  weariness,  but  because  I  have  a  boundless  desire  for 
what  is  great,  I  shall  give  all  my  millions  away,  let  society 
distribute  all  my  wealth,  and  I — I  will  mix  with  nothingness 
again  !     Maybe  I  will  turn  into  a  beggar  like  the  one  who  died 

86 


on  the  steamer,  with  the  only  difference  that  they  wouldn't  find 
money  sewn  up  in  my  shirt.  The  mere  consciousness  that  I 
had  had  millions  in"  my  hands  and  had  flung  them  away  into 
the  dirt  like  trash  would  sustain  me  in  my  sohtude.  I  am  ready 
to  think  the  same  even  now.  Yes,  my  "  idea  "  is  a  fortress  in 
which  I  can  always,  at  every  turn,  take  refuge  from  every  one, 
even  if  I  were  a  beggar  dying  on  a  steamer.  It  is  my  poem  ! 
And  let  me  tell  you  I  must  have  the  whole  of  my  vicious  will, 
simply  to  prove  to  myself  that  I  can  renounce  it. 

No  doubt  I  shall  be  told  that  this  is  all  romance,  and  that  if 
I  got  my  millions  I  should  not  give  therii  up  and  become  a  beggar. 
Perhaps  I  should  not.  I  have  simply  sketched  the  ideal  in  my 
mind. 

But  I  will  add  seriously  that  if  I  did  succeed  in  piling  up  as 
much  money  as  Rothschild,  that  it  really  might  end  in  my 
giving  it  all  up  to  the  public  (though  it  would  be  difficult  to  do 
so  before  I  reached  that  amount).  And  I  shouldn't  give  away 
half  because  that  would  be  simply  vulgar  ;  I  should  be  only 
half  as  rich,  that  would  be  all.  I  should  give  away  aU,  all  to 
the  last  farthing,  for  on  becoming  a  beggar  I  should  become 
twice  as  rich  as  Rothschild  !  If  other  people  don't  understand 
this  it's  not  my  fault ;  I'm  not  going  to  explain  it. 

"  The  fanaticism,  the  romanticism  of  insignificance  and 
impotence  !  "  people  will  pronounce,  "  the  triumph  of  common- 
placeness  and  mediocrity  !  "  Yes,  I  admit  that  it  is  in  a  way 
the  triumph  of  commonplaceness  and  mediocrity,  but  surely  not 
of  impotence.  I  used  to  be  awfully  fond  of  imagining  just  such 
a  creature,  commonplace  and  mediocre,  facing  the  world  and 
saying  to  it  with  a  smile,  "  You  are  Galileos,  and  Copemicuses, 
Charlemagnes  and  Napoleons,  you  are  Pushkius  and  Sbake- 
speares,  you  are  field-marshals  and  generals,  and  I  am  incom- 
petence and  illegitimacy,  and  yet  I  am  higher  than  all  of  you, 
because  you  bow  down  to  it  yourself."  I  admit  that  I  have 
pushed  this  fancy  to  such  extremes  that  I  have  struck  out  even 
my  education  It  seemed  to  me  more  picturesque  if  the  man 
were  sordidly  ignorant.  This  exaggerated  dream  had  a  positive 
influence  at  the  time  on  my  success  in  the  seventh  form  of  the 
grammar-school.  I  gave  up  working  simply  from  fanaticism, 
feeling  that  lack  of  education  would  add  a  charm  to  my  ideal. 
Now  I've  changed  my  views  on  that  point ;  education  does  not 
detract  from  it. 

Gentlemen,  can  it  be  that  even  the  smallest  independence  of 

87 


mind  is  so  distasteful  to  you  ?  Blessed  he  who  has  an  ideal  of 
beauty,  even  though  it  be  a  mistaken  one  !  But  I  believe  in 
mine.  It  is  only  that  I've  explained  it  clumsily,  crudely.  In 
ten  years,  of  course,  I  should  explain.it  better,  and  I  treasure 
that  in  my  memory. 


I've  finished  with  my  idea.  If  my  account  of  it  has  been 
commonplace  and  superficial  it  is  I  that  am  to  blame  and  not 
the  idea.  I  have  already  pointed  out  that  the  simplest  ideas 
are  always  the  most  difficult  to  understand. 

Now  I  will  add  that  they  are  also  the  most  difficult  to  explain  ; 
moreover,  I  have  described  my  "  idea  "  in  its  earliest  phase. 
The  converse  is  the  rule  with  ideas  :  commonplace  and^skallow. 
ideas  are  extraordinarily  quickly  understood^  and  are  invariably 
understood  by  the  crowd,  bythc  whole  street.  What  is  more, 
they  are  regarded  as  very  great,  and  as  the  ideas  of  genius,  but 
only  for  the  day  of  their  appearance.  The  cheap  never  wears. 
For  a  thing  to  be  quickly  understood  is  only  a  sign  of  its  common- 
placeness.  Bismarck's  idea  was  received  as  a  stroke  of  genius 
instantly,  and  Bismarck  himself  Avas  looked  on  as  a  genius,  but 
the  very  rapidity  of  its  reception  was  suspicious.  Wait  for 
ten  years,  and  then  we  shall  see  what  remains  of  the  idea  and 
of  Bismarck  himself.  I  introduce  this  extremely  irrelevant 
observation,  of  course,  not  for  the  sake  of  comparison,  but  also 
for  the  sake  of  remembering  it.  (An  explanation  for  the  too 
unmannerly  reader.) 

And  now  I  will  tell  two  anecdotes  to  wind  up  my  account  of 
the  "  idea,"  that  it  may  not  hinder  my  story  again. 

In  July,  two  months  before  I  came  to  Petersburg,  when  my 
tim'i  was  all  my  own,  Marie  Ivanovna  asked  me  to  go  to  see 
an  old  maiden  lady  who  was  staying  in  the  Troitsky  suburb  to 
take  her  a  message  of  no  interest  for  my  story.  Returning  the 
same  day,  I  noticed  in  the  railway  carriage  an  unattractive- 
looking  young  man,  not  very  poorly  though  grubbily  dressed, 
with  a  pimply  face  and  a  muddy  dark  complexion.  He  distin- 
guished himself  by  getting  out  at  evvry  station,  big  and  little, 
to  have  a  drink.  Towards  the  end  of  the  journey  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  merry  throng  of  very  low  companions.  One 
merchant,  also  a  little  drunk,  was  particularly  delighted  at  the 
young  man's  power  of  drinking  incessantly  without  becoming 


drunk.  Another  person,  who  was  awfully  pleased  with  him, 
was  a  very  stupid  young  fellow  who  talked  a  groat  deal.  He 
was  wearing  European  dress  and  smelt  most  unsavoury — he  was 
a  footman  as  I  found  out  afterwards  ;  this  fellow  got  quite 
friendly  with  the  young  man  who  was  drinking,  and,  everj'  time 
the  train  stopped,  roused  him  with  the  invitation  :  "  It's,  time 
for  a  drop  of  vodka,"  and  they  got  out  with  their  arras  round 
each  other.  The  young  man  who  drank  scarcely  said  a  word, 
but  3'et  more  and  more  companions  joined  him.  He  only 
listened  to  their  chatter,  grinning  incessantly  with  a  drivelling 
snigger,  and  only  from  time  to  time,  always  unexpectedly, 
brought  out  a  sound  something  like  "  Ture- lure-loo  !  "  while  he 
put  his  finger  up  to  his  nose  in  a  very  comical  way.  This  diverted 
the  merchant,  and  the  footman  and  all  of  them,  and  they  burst 
into  very  loud  and  free  and  easy  laughter.  It  is  sometimes 
impossible  to  understand  why  people  laugh.  I  joined  them  too, 
and,  I  don't  know  why,  the  young  man  attracted  me  too,  perhaps 
by  his  very  opsn  disregard  for  the  generally  accepted  conventions 
and  proprieties.  I  didn't  see,  in  fact,  that  he  was  simply  a  fool. 
Anyway,  I  got  on  to  friendly  terms  with  him  at  once,  and,  as  I 
got  out  of  the  train,  I  learnt  from  him  that  he  would  be  in  the 
Tverskoy  Boulevard  between  eight  and  nine.  It  appeared  that 
hs  had  been  a  student.  I  went  to  the  Boulevard,  and  this  was 
the  diversion  he  taught  me  :  we  walked  together  up  and  down 
the  boulevards,  and  a  little  later,  as  soon  as  we  noticed  a 
respectable  woman  walking  along  the  street,  if  there  were  no 
one  else  near,  we  fastened  upon  her.  Without  uttering  a  word 
we  walked  one  on  each  side  of  hor,  and  with  an  air  of  perfect 
composure  as  though  we  didn't  see  her,  bogan  to  carry  on  a 
most  unseemly  conversation.  We  called  things  by  their  names, 
preserving  unruffled  countenances  as  though  it  were  the  natural 
thing  to  do ;  we  entered  into  such  subtleties  in  our  description 
of  all  sorts  of  filth  and  obscenity  as  the  nastiest  mind  of  the 
lewdest  debauchee  could  hardly  have  conceived.  (I  had,  of 
course,  acquired  all  this  knowledge  at  the  boarding  school  before 
I  went  to  the  grammar  school,  though  I  knew  only  words, 
nothing  of  the  reality.)  The  woman  was  dreadfully  frightened, 
and  made  haste  to  try  and  get  away,  but  we  quickened  our  pace 
too — and  went  on  in  the  same  way.  Our  victim,  of  course, 
could  do  nothing  ;  it  was  no  use  to  cry  out,  there  were  no 
spectators  ;  besides,  it  would  be  a  strange  thing  to  complain  of. 
I  repeated  this  diversion  for  eight  days.     I  can't  think  how  I 

89 


can  have  liked  doing  it ;  though,  indeed,  I  didn't  like  doing  it — 
I  simply  did  it.  At  first  I  thought  it  original,  as  something 
outside  everyday  conventions  and  conditions,  besides  I  couldn't 
endure  women.  I  once  told  the  student  that  in  his  "Confes- 
sions" Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  describes  how,  as  a  youth,  he 
used  to  behave  indecently  in  the  presence  of  women.  The 
student  responded  with  his  "  ture-lure-Ioo  !  "  I  noticed  that 
he  was  extraordinarily  ignorant,  and  that  his  interests  were 
astonishingly  limited.  There  was  no  trace  in  him  of  any  latent 
idea  such  as  I  had  hoped  to  find  in  him.  Instead  of  originality  I 
found  nothing  in  him  but  a  wearisome  monotony.  I  disliked 
him  more  and  more.  The  end  came  quite  unexpectedly.  One 
night  when  it  was  quite  dark,  we  persecuted  a  girl  who  wae 
quickly  and  timidly  walking  along  the  boulevard.  She  was  very 
young,  perhaps  sixteen  or  even  less,  very  tidily  and  modestly 
dressed  ;  possibly  a  working  girl  hurrying  home  from  work  to 
an  old  widowed  mother  with  other  children  ;  there  is  no  need  to 
be  sentimental  though.  The  girl  listened  for  some  time,  and 
hurried  as  fast  as  she  could  with  her  head  bowed  and  her  veil 
drawn  over  her  face,  frightened  and  trembling.  But  suddenly 
she  stood  still,  threw  back  her  veil,  showing,  as  far  as  I  remember, 
a  thin  but  pretty  face,  and  cried  with  flashing  eyes  : 

"  Oh,  what  scoundrels  you  are  !  " 

She  may  have  been  on  the  verge  of  tears,  but  something 
different  happened.  Lifting  her  thin  little  arm,  she  gave  the 
student  a  slap  in  the  face  which  could  not  have  been  more 
dexterously  delivered.  It  did  come  with  a  smack  !  He  would 
have  rushed  at  her,  swearing,  but  I  held  him  back,  and  the  girl 
had  time  to  run  away.  We  began  quarrelling  at  once.  I  told 
him  all  I  had  been  saving  up  against  him  in  those  days.  I  told 
him  he  was  the  paltriest  commonplace  fool  without  the  trace  of 
an  idea.  He  swore  at  me.  ...  (I  had  once  explained  to  him 
that  I  was  illegitimate),  then  we  spat  at  each  other,  and  I've 
never  seen  him  since.  I  felt  frightfully  vexed  with  myself  that 
evening,  but  not  so  much  the  next  day,  and  by  the  day  after  I 
had  quite  forgotten  it.  And  though  I  sometimes  thought  of 
that  girl  again,  it  was  only  casually,  for  a  moment.  It  was  only 
after  I  had  been  a  fortnight  in  Petersburg,  I  suddenly  recalled 
the  whole  scene.  I  remembered  it,  and  I  was  suddenly  so 
ashamed  that  tears  of  shame  literally  ran  down  my  cheeks. 
I  was  wretched  the  whole  evening,  and  all  that  night,  and  I  am 
rather  miserable  about  it  now.     I  could  not  understand  at  first 

90 


how  I  could  have  sunk  to  such  a  depth  of  degradation,  and  still 
less  how  I  could  have  forgotten  it  without  feeling  shame  or 
remorse.  It  is  only  now  that  I  understand  what  was  at  the  root 
of  it ;  it  was  all  due  to  my  "  idea."  Briefly,  I  conclude  that, 
having  something  fixed,  permanent  and  overpowering  in  one's 
mind  in  which  one  is  terribly  absorbed,  one  is,  as  it  were,  removed 
by  it  from  the  whole  world,  and  everything  that  happens,  except 
the  one  great  thing,  slips  by  one.  Even  one's  impressions  are 
hardly  formed  correctly.  And  what  matters  most — one  always 
has  an  excuse.  However  much  I  worried  my  mother  at  that  time, 
however  disgracefully  I  neglected  my  sister,"  Oh,  I've  my  *  idea,' 
nothing  else  matters,"  was  what  I  said  to  myself,  as  it  were.  If 
I  were  slighted  and  hurt,  I  withdrew  in  my  mortification  and 
at  once  said  to  myself,  "  Ah,  I'm  humiliated,  but  still  I  have  my 
idea,  and  they  know  nothing  about  that."  The  "  idea " 
comforted  me  in  disgrace  and  insignificance.  But  all  the  nasty 
things  I  did  took  refuge,  as  it  were,  imder  the  "  idea."  It,  so 
to  speak,  smoothed  over  everything,  but  it  also  put  a  mist 
before  my  eyes  ;  and  such  a  misty  understanding  of  things  and 
events  may,  of  course,  be  a  great  hindrance  to  the  "  idea  " 
itself,  to  say  nothing  of  other  things. 

Now  for  another  anecdote. 

On  the  let  of  April  last  year,  Marie  Ivanovna  was  keeping 
her  name-day ;  some  visitors,  though  only  a  few,  came  for  the 
evening.  Suddenly  Agrafena  rushed  in,  out  of  breath,  announc- 
ing that  a  baby  was  crying  in  the  passage  before  the  kitchen, 
and  that  she  didn't  know  what  to  do.  We  were  all  excited  at 
the  news.  We  .wpnt  out  and  saw  a  bark  basket,  and  in  the 
basket  a  three  or  four  weeks  old  child,  crying.  I  picked  up  the 
basket  and  took  it  into  the  kitchen.  Then  I  immediately  found 
a  folded  note  :  "  Gracious  benefactors,  show  kind  charity  to 
the  girl  christened  Arina,  and  we  will  join  with  her  to  send  our 
tears  to  the  Heavenly  throne  for  you  for  ever,  and  congratulate 
you  on  your  name-day, 

Persons  unknown  to  you." 

Then  Nikolay  Semyonovitch,  for  whom  I  have  such  a  respect, 
greatly  disappointed  me.  He  drew  a  very  long  face  and  decided 
to  send  the  child  at  once  to  the  Foundling  Home.  I  felt  very 
sad.  They  lived  very  frugally  but  had  no  children,  and  Nikolay 
Semyonovitch  was  always  glad  of  it.  I  carefully  took  little 
Arina  out  of  the  basket  and  held  her  up  under  the  arms.  The 
basket  had  that  sour,  pungent  odour  characteristic  of  a  small 

91 


child  which  has  not  been  washed  for  a  long  time.  I  opposed 
Nikolcy  Semyonovitch,  and  suddenly  announced  that  I  would 
keep  the  child  at  my  expense.  In  spite  of  his  gentleness  he 
protested  with  some  severity,  and,  though  he  ended  by  joking, 
he  adhered  to  his  intention  in  regard  to  the  foundling.  I  got 
my  way,  however.  In  the  same  block  of  buildings,  but  in  a 
different  wing,  there  lived  a  very  poor  carpenter,  an  elderly  man, 
given  to  drink,  but  his  wife,  a  very  healthy  and  still  youngish 
peasant  woman,  had  only  just  lost  a  baby,  and,  what  is  more, 
the  only  child  she  had  had  in  eight  years  of  marriage,  also  a  girl,  and 
by  a  strange  piece  of  luck  also  called  Arina.  I  call  it  good  luck, 
because  while  we  were  arguing  in  the  kitchen,  the  woman, 
hearing  of  what  had  happened,  ran  in  to  look  at  the  chiJd,  and 
when  she  learned  that  it  was  called  Arina,  she  was  greatly 
touched.  She  still  had  milk,  and  unfastening  her  dress  ehe  put 
the  baby  to  her  breast.  I  began  persuading  her  to  take  the 
child  home  with  her,  saying  I  would  pay  for  it  every  month. 
She  was  afraid  her  husband  лгоиИ  not  allow  it,  but  she  took  it 
for  the  night.  Next  morning,  her  husband  consented  to  her 
keeping  it  for  eight  roubles  a  month,  and  I  immediately  paid 
him  for  the  first  mouth  in  advance.  He  at  once  spent  the 
money  on  drink.  Nikolay  Semyonovitch,  still  with  a  strange 
smile,  agreed  to  guarantee  that  the  money  should  be  paid 
regularly  every  month.  I  would  have  given  my  sixty  roubles 
into  Nikolay  Semyonovitch's  keeping  as  security,  but  he  would 
not  take  it.  He  knew,  however,  that  I  had  the  money,  and 
trusted  me.  Our  momentary  quarrel  was  smoothed  over  by 
this  delicacy  on  his  part.  Marie  Ivanovna  said  nothing,  but 
wondered  at  my  undertaking  such  a  responsibility.  I  par- 
ticularly appreciated  their  dc  licacy  in  refraining  from  the  slightest 
jest  at  my  expense,  but,  on  the  contrary,  taking  the  matter  with 
proper  seriousness.  I  used  to  run  over  to  the  carpenter's  wife 
three  times  a  day,  and  at  the  end  of  a  week  I  slipped  an  extra 
three  roubles  into  her  hand  Avithout  her  husband's  knowledge. 
For  another  three  I  bought  a  little  quilt  and  swaddling  clothes. 
But  ten  days  later  little  Arina  fell  ill.  I  called  in  a  doctor  at 
once,  he  wrote  a  prescription,  and  we  were  up  all  night,  tormenting 
the  mite  with  horrid  medicine.  Next  day  he  declared  that  he 
had  been  sent  for  too  late,  and  answered  my  entreaties — which 
I  fancy  were  more  like  reproaches — by  saying  with  majestic 
evasiveness  :  "  I  am  not  God."  The  baby's  httle  tongue  and 
lips  and  whole  mouth  were  covered  wnth  a  minute  white  rash, 

92 


and  towards  evening  she  died,  gazing  at  me  with  her  big  black 
eyes,  as  though  she  understood  already.  I  don't  know  why  I 
never  thought  to  take  a  photograph  of  the  dead  baby.  But  will 
it  be  believed,  that  I  cried  that  evening,  and,  in  fact,  I  howled 
as  I  had  never  let  myself  do  before,  and  Marie  Ivanovna  had  to 
try  to  comfort  me,  again  without  the  least  mockery  either  on 
her  part  or  on  Nikolay  Semyonovitch's.  The  carpenter  made  a 
little  coffin,  and  Marie  Ivanovna  finished  it  with  a  frill  and  a 
pretty  little  pillow,  while  I  bought  flowers  and  strewed  them 
on  the  baby.  So  they  carried  away  my  poor  little  blossom, 
whom  it  will  hardly  be  believed  I  can't  forget  even  now.  A 
little  afterwards,  however,  this  sudden  adventure  made  me 
reflect  seriously.  Little  Arina  had  not  cost  me  much,  of  course  ; 
the  coffin,  the  burial,  the  doctor,  the  flowers,  and  the  payment 
to  the  carpenter's  wife  came  altogether  to  thirty  roubles.  As  I 
was  going  to  Petersburg  I  made  up  this  sum  from  the  forty 
roubles  sent  me  by  Versilov  for  the  journey,  and  from  the  sale 
of  various  articles  before  my  departure,  so  that  my  capital 
remained  intact.  But  I  thought  :  "  If  I  am  going  to  be  turned 
aside  like  this  I  shan't  get  far."  The  affair  with  the  student 
showed  that  the  "  idea  "  might  absorb  me  till  it  blurred  my 
impressions  and  drew  me  away  from  the  reaUties  of  Life.  The 
incident  with  little  Arina  proved,  on  the  contrary,  that  no 
"  idea  "  was  strong  enough  to  absorb  me,  at  least  so  completely 
that  I  should  not  stop  short  in  the  face  of  an  overwhelming  fact 
and  sacrifice  to  it  at  once  all  that  I  had  done  for  the  "  idea  "  by 
years  of  labour.     Both  conclusions  were  nevertheless  true. 


CHAPTER  VI 


My  hopes  were  not  fully  realized.  I  did  not  find  them  alone 
though  Versilov  was  not  at  home,  Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  sitting 
with  my  mother,  and  she  was,  after  all,  not  one  of  the  family. 
Fully  half  of  my  magnanimous  feelings  disappeared  instantly. 
It  is  wonderful  how  hasty  and  changeable  I  am  in  such  cases  ; 
a  straw,  a  grain  of  sand  is  enough  to  dissipate  my  good  mood 
and  replace  it  by  a  bad  one.  My  bad  impressions,  I  regret  to 
say,  are  not  so  quickly  dispelled,  though  I  am  not  resentful.  .  . 
When  I  went  in.  I  had  a  feeling  that  my  mother  immediately 

93 


and  hastily  broke  off  what  she  was  saying  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna  ; 
I  fancied  they  were  talking  very  eagerly.  My  sister  turned  from 
her  work  only  for  a  moment  to  look  at  me  and  did  not  come  out 
of  her  little  alcove  again.  The  flat  consisted  of  three  rooms. 
The  room  in  which  we  usually  sat,  the  middle  room  or  drawing- 
room,  was  fairly  large  and  almost  presentable.  In  it  were  soft, 
red  armchairs  and  a  sofa,  very  much  the  worse  for  wear,  however 
(Versilov  could  not  endure  covers  on  furniture) ;  there  were  rugs 
of  a  sort  and  several  tables,  including  some  useless  little  ones.  On 
the  right  was  Versilov's  room,  cramped  and  narrow  with  one 
window  ;  it  was  furnished  with  a  wretched -looking  writing-table 
covered  with  unused  books  and  crumpled  papers,  and  an  equally 
wretched-looking  easy  chair  with  a  broken  spring  that  stuck  up 
in  one  corner  and  often  made  Versilov  groan  and  swear.  On  an 
equally  threadbare  sofa  in  this  room  he  used  to  sleep.  He 
hated  this  study  of  his,  and  I  believe  he  never  did  anything  in  it ; 
he  preferred  sitting  idle  for  hours  together  in  the  drawing-room. 
On  the  left  of  the  drawing-room  there  was  another  room  of  the 
same  sort  in  which  my  mother  and  sister  slep  ,  The  drawing- 
room  was  entered  from  the  passage  at  the  end  of  which  was  the 
kitchen,  where  the  cook,  Lukerya,  lived,  and  when  she  cooked, 
she  ruthlessly  filled  the  whole  flat  with  the  smell  of  burnt  fat. 
There  were  moments  when  Versilov  cursed  his  life  and  fate  aloud 
on  account  of  the  smell  from  the  kitchen,  and  in  that  one  matter 
I  sympathized  with  him  fufly ;  I  hated  that  smell,  too,  though  it 
did  not  penetrate  to  my  room  :  I  lived  upstairs  in  an  attic  under 
the  roof,  to  which  I  climbed  by  a  very  steep  and  shaky  ladder. 
The  only  tkings  worth  mentioning  in  it  were  a  semicircular 
window,  a  low-pitched  ceiling,  a  sofa  covered  with  American 
leather  on  which  at  night  Lukerya  spread  sheets  and  put  a  pillow 
for  me.  The  rest  of  the  furniture  consisted  of  two  articles, 
a  perfectly  plain  deal  table  and  a  wooden  rush-bottomed  chair. 
We  still  preserved,  however,  some  relics  of  former  comfort.  In 
the  drawing-room,  for  instance,  we  had  a  fairly  decent  china 
lamp,  and  on  the  wall  himg  a  large  and  splendid  engraving  of 
the  Sistine  Madonna ;  facing  it  on  the  other  wall  was  an  immense 
and  expensive  photograph  of  the  cast-bronze  gates  of  the  cathedral 
of  Florence.  In  the  comer  of  the  same  room  was  a  shrine  of 
old-faehioned  family  ikons,  one  of  which  had  a  gilt-silver  setting 
— the  one  they  had  meant  to  pawn,  while  another  (the  image  of 
Our  Lady)  had  a  velvet  setting  embroidered  in  pearls.  Under 
the  ikons  himg  a  Uttle  lamp  which  was  lighted  on  every  holiday. 

94 


Versilov  evidently  had  no  feeling  for  the  ikons  in  their  inner 
meaning  and  religious  significance,  but  he  restrained  himself. 
He  merely  screwed  up  his  eyes,  sometimes  complaining  that  the 
lamplight  reflected  in  the  gilt  setting  hurt  them,  but  he  did 
not  hinder  my  mother  from  lighting  the  lamp. 

I  usually  entered  in  gloomy  silence,  looking  away  into  some 
comer,  and  sometimes  without  even  greeting  anyone.  As  a 
rule  I  returned  earlier  than  to-day,  and  they  used  to  send  my 
dinner  to  me  upstairs.  Going  into  the  room  I  said,  "  Good  even- 
ing, mother,"  a  thing  I  had  never  done  before.  Though  even 
this  time  I  was  unable  from  a  sort  of  bashfulnesstomake  myself 
look  at  her,  and  I  sat  down  in  the  opposite  corner  of  the  room. 
I  was  awfully  tired,  but  I  did  not  think  of  that. 

"That  lout  of  yours  still  walks  in  as  rudely  as  ever,"  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  hissed  at  me.  She  had  been  in  the  habit  in  old  days 
of  using  abusive  epithets  to  me  and  it  had  become  an  established 
tradition  between  us. 

My  mother  faltered  "  Good  evening  "  to  me,  using  the  formal 
mode  of  address,  and  evidently  embarrassed  at  my  greeting  her. 
"  Your  dinner  has  been  ready  a  long  while,"  she  added,  almost 
overcome  by  confusion  :  "  I  hope  the  soup  is  not  cold,  I  will 
order  the  cutlets  at  once.  .  .  ."  She  was  hastily  jumping  up 
to  go  to  the  kitchen  and,  for  the  first  time  perhaps  during  that 
whole  month,  I  felt  ashamed  that  she  should  run  about  to  wait 
on  me  so  humbly,  though  till  that  moment  I  had  expected  it  of 
her. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  mother,  I  have  had  dinner  already. 
May  I  stay  and  rest  here  if  I  am  not  in  the  way  ?  " 

"  Oh  ...  of  course.  .  .  .  how  can  you  ask,  pray  sit  down 

"  Don't  worry  yourself,  mother,  I  won't  be  rude  to  Andrey 
Petrovitch  again,"  I  rapped  out  all  at  once. 

"  Good  heavens  !  how  noble  of  him,"  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna. 
"  Sonia  darling,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  still  stand  on  cere- 
mony with  him  ?  Who  is  he  to  be  treated  with  such  deference, 
and  by  his  own  mother,  too  !  Look  at  you,  why  you  behave 
as  though  you  were  afraid  of  him,  it  is  disgraceful." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,  mother,  if  you  would  call  me 
Arkasha." 

"  Oh  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  certainly,  yes  I  will,"  my  mother  said 
hurriedly.     "  I  .  .   .  don't  always  .  .  .  henceforward  I  will," 

She  blushed  all  over.    Certainly  her  face  had  at  times  a  great 

95 


charm.  ...  It  had  a  look  of  simplicity,  but  by  no  means  of  stu- 
pidity. It  was  rather  pale  and  anaemic,  her  cheeks  were  very  thin, 
even  hollow ;  her  forehead  was  already  lined  by  many  wrinkles,  but 
there  were  none  round  her  eyes,  and  her  eyes  were  rather  large  and 
wide  open,  and  shone  with  a  gentle  and  serene  light  which  had 
drawn  me  to  her  from  the  very  first  day.  I  liked  her  face,  too, 
because  it  did  not  look  particularly  depressed  or  dra\Mi ;  on 
the  contrary,  her  expression  would  have  been  positively  cheerful, 
if  she  had  not  been  so  often  agitated,  sometimes  almost  panic- 
stricken  over  trifles,  starting  up  from  her  seat  for  nothing  at 
all,  or  listening  in  alarm  to  anything  new  that  was  said,  till 
she  was  sure  that  all  was  well  and  as  before.  What  mattered  to 
her  was  just  that  all  should  be  as  before  ;  that  there  should 
be  no  change,  that  nothing  new  should  hai)pen,  not  even  new 
happiness.  ...  It  might  have  been  thought  that  she  had  been 
frightened  as  a  child.  Besides  her  eyes,  I  liked  the  oval  of  her 
rather  long  face,  and  I  believe  if  it  had  been  a  shade  less  broad 
across  the  cheekbones  she  might  have  been  called  beautiful, 
not  only  in  her  youth  but  even  now.  She  v  s  not  more  than 
thirty-nine,  but  grey  hairs  were  already  visible  in  her  chestnut 
hair. 

Tatyana  Pavlovna  glanced  at  her  in  genuine  indignation. 

"  A  booby  like  him  !  And  you  tremble  before  him,  you  are 
ridiculous,  Sofia,  you  make  me  angry,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"Ah,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  why  should  you  attack  him  now? 
But  you  are  joking  perhaps,  eh  ?  "  my  mother  added,  detecting 
something  like  a  smile  on  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  face.  Her 
scoldings  could  not  indeed  be  always  taken  seriously.  But  she 
smUed  (if  she  did  smile)  only  at  my  mother,  of  course,  because 
she  loved  her  devotedly,  and  no  doubt  noticed  how  happy  she 
was  at  that  moment  at  my  meekness. 

"  Of  course,  I  can't  help  feeling  hurt,  if  you  will  attack  people 
unprovoked,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  just  when  I've  come  in 
saying  '  Good  evening,  mother,'  a  thing  I've  never  done  before," 
I  thought  it  necessary  to  observe  at  last. 

"  Only  fancy,"  she  boiled  over  at  once  :  "He  considers  it  as 
something  to  be  proud  of.  Am  I  to  go  down  on  my  knees  to  you, 
pray,  because  for  once  in  your  life  you've  been  polite  ?  and 
as  though  it  were  politeness  !  Why  do  you  stare  into  the  comer 
when  you  come  in  ?  I  know  how  you  tear  and  fling  about 
before  her  !  You  might  have  said  '  Good  evening '  to  me,  too, 
1  wrapped  )^ou  in  your  swaddling  clothes,  1  am  your  godmother." 

96 


I  need  not  say  I  did  not  deign  to  answer.  At  that  moment 
my  sister  came  in  and  I  made  haste  to  turn  to  her. 

"  Liza,  I  saw  Vassin  to-day  and  he  inquired  after  you.  You 
have  met  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  last  year  in  Luga,"  she  answered  quite  simply,  sitting 
down  beside  me  and  looking  at  me  affectionately.  I  don't 
know  why,  but  I  had  fancied  she  would  flush  when  I  spoke  of 
Vassin.  My  sister  was  a  blonde  ;  very  fair  with  flaxen  hair, 
quite  unlike  both  her  parents.  But  her  eyes  and  the  oval  of 
her  face  л\'еге  like  our  mother's.  Her  nose  was  very  straight, 
small,  and  regular  ;  there  were  tiny  freckles  in  her  face,  however, 
of  which  there  was  no  sign  in  my  mother's.  There  was  very 
little  resemblance  to  Versilov,  nothing  but  the  slenderness  of 
figure,  perhaps,  her  tallness  and  something  charming  in  her 
carriage.  There  was  not  the  slightest  likeness  between  us — we 
were  the  opposite  poles. 

"  I  knew  his  honour  for  three  months,"  Liza  added. 

"  Is  it  Vassin  you  call  '  his  honour,'  Liza  ?  You  should  call 
him  by  his  name.  Excuse  my  correctmg  you,  sister,  but  it  grieves 
me  that  they  seem  to  have  neglected  your  education." 

"  But  it's  shameful  of  you  to  remark  upon  it  before  your 
mother,"  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  firing  up  ;  "  and  you  are 
talking  nonsense,  it  has  not  been  neglected  at  all." 

'■  I  am  not  saying  anything  about  my  mother,"  I  said  sharpl}', 
defendmg  myself.  "  Do  you  know,  mother,  that  when  I  look 
at  Liza  it's  as  though  it  were  you  over  again  ;  j'ou  have  given 
her  the  same  charm  of  goodness,  which  you  must  have  had 
yourself,  and  you  have  it  to  this  day  and  always  will  have  it.  .  .  . 
I  was  only  talking  of  the  surface  polish,  of  the  silly  rules  of 
etiquette,  which  are  necessary,  however.  I  am  only  indignant 
at  the  thought  that  when  Versilov  has  heard  you  call  \'assin  '  his 
honour  '  he  has  not  troubled  to  correct  you  at  all — hLs  disdain 
and  his  indifference  to  us  are  so  complete.  That's  Avhat  makes 
me  furious." 

"  He  is  a  perfect  bear  himself,  and  he  is  giving  us  lessons  in 
good  manners  !  Don't  you  dare  talk  of  Versilov  before  your 
mother,  sir,  or  before  me  either,  I  won't  stand  it !  "  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  flashed  out. 

"  I  got  my  salary  to-dav,  mother,  fifty  roubles  ;  take  it,  please  ; 
here  !  " 

1  went  up  to  her  and  gave  her  the  money  ;  she  was  in  a  tremor 
of  anxiety  at  once. 

97 


"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  taking  it,"  she  brought  out,  as  though 
afraid  to  touch  the  money.     I  did  not  understand. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  mother,  if  you  both  think  of  me  as  one 
of  the  family,  as  a  son  and  a  brother.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  I've  been  to  blame,  Arkady  :  I  ought  to  have  confessed 
something  to  you,  but  I  am  afraid  of  you.  .  .  ." 

She  said  this  with  a  timid  and  deprecating  smile  ;  again  I  did 
not  understand  and  interrupted. 

"  By  the  way,  did  you  know,  mother,  that  An  drey  Petrovitch's 
case  against  the  Sokolskys  is  being  decided  to-day  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  I  knew,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  before  her  (her 
favourite  gesture)  in  alarm. 

"  To-day  ?  "  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna  startled,  "  but  it's 
impossible,  he  would  have  told  us.  Did  he  tell  you  ?  "  she 
turned  to  my  mother, 

"  Oh  !  no  .  .  .  that  it  was  to-day  ...  he  didn't.  But  I 
have  been  fearing  it  all  the  week.  I  would  have  praj^ed  for  him 
to  lose  it  even,  only  to  have  it  over  and  off  one's  mind,  and  to 
have  things  as  they  used  to  be  again." 

"  What !  hasn't  he  even  told  you,  mother  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  What  a  man  !  There's  an  example  of  the  indifference  and 
contempt  I  spoke  of  just  now." 

"  It's  being  deoided,  how  is  it  being  decided  ?  And  who  told 
you  ?"  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  pouncing  upon  me.  "  Speak, 
do." 

"  Why,  here  he  is  himself  !  Perhaps  he  will  tell  you,"  I 
announced,  catching  the  sound  of  his  step  in  the  passage  and 
hastily  sitting  down  again  beside  Liza. 

"  Brother,  for  God's  sake,  spare  mother,  and  be  patient  with 
Andrey  Petrovitch  .  .  ."  she  whispered  to  me. 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  with  that  I  turned  to  her  and  pressed  her 
hand. 

Liza  looked  at  me  very  mistrustfully,  and  she  was  right. 


He  came  in  very  much  pleased  with  himself,  so  pleased  that 
he  did  not  feel  it  necessary  to  conceal  his  state  of  mind.  And, 
indeed,  he  had  become  accustomed  of  late  to  displaying  himself 
before  us  without  the  slightest  ceremony,  not  only  in  his  bac' 
points  but  even  where  he  was  ridiculous,  a  thing  which  most 
people  are  afraid  to  do ;  at  the  same  time,  he  fully  recognized 

98 


that  we  should  understand  to  the  smallest  detail.  In  the  course 
of  the  last  year,  so  Tatyana  Pavlovna  observed,  he  had  become 
slovenly  in  his  dress  :  his  clothes  though  old  were  always  well 
cut  and  free  from  foppishness.  It  is  true  that  he  was  prepared 
to  put  on  clean  linen  only  on  every  alternate  day,  instead  of 
every  day,  which  was  a  real  distress  to  my  mother  ;  it  was 
regarded  by  them  as  a  sacrifice,  and  the  whole  group  of  devoted 
women  looked  upon  it  as  an  act  of  heroism.  He  alwaj's  wore 
soft  wide-brimmed  black  hats.  When  he  took  off  his  hat  his 
very  thick  but  silvery  locks  stood  up  in  a  shock  on  his  head  ;  1 
liked  looking  at  his  hair  when  he  took  off  his  hat. 

"  Good  evening  ;  still  disputing ;  and  is  he  actually  one  of  the 
;^Arty  ?  I  heard  his  voice  from  outside  in  the  passage  ;  he 
has  been  attacking  me  I  suppose  ?  " 

It  was  one  of  the  signs  of  his  being  in  a  good  humour  for  him 
to  be  witty  at  my  expense  ;  I  did  not  answer,  of  course.  Lukerya 
came  in  with  a  regular  sackful  of  parcels  and  put  them  on  the 
table. 

"Victory!  Tatyana  Pavlovna!  the  case  is  won,  and  the 
Sokolskys  certainly  won't  venture  to  appeal.  I've  won  the  day  ! 
I  was  able  to  borrow  a  thousand  roubles  at  once.  Sonia,  put 
down  your  work,  don't  try  youi  eyes.     Back  from  work,  Liza  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,"  answered  Liza,  looking  at  him  affectionately ; 
she  used  to  call  him  father  ;  nothing  would  have  induced  me 
to  submit  to  doing  the  same. 

"Tired?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Give  up  your  worK,  don't  go  to-morrow,  and  drop  it  alto- 
gether." 

"  Father,  that  will  be  worse  for  me." 

"  I  beg  you  will  ...  I  greatly  dishke  to  see  women  working, 
Tatyana  Pavlovna," 

"  How  can  they  get  on  without  work  ?  a  луотап'в  not  to 
work  ?  " 

"  I  know,  I  know  ;  that's  excellent  and  very  true,  and  I  agiee 
with  it  beforehand,  but — I  mean  needlework  particularly. 
Only  imagine,  I  believe  that's  one  of  the  morbid  anomalous 
impressions  of  my  childhood.  In  my  dim  memories  of  the  time 
when  I  was  five  or  six  years  old  I  remember  more  often  than 
anything — with  loattiing,  of  course — a  solemn  coimcil  of  wise 
women,  stem  and  forbidding,  sitting  at  a  round  table  with 
scissors,  material,  patterns,  and  a  fashion-plate.     They  thought 

99 


they  knew  all  about  it,  and  shook  their  heads  slowly  and  majesti- 
cally, measuring,  calculating,  and  preparing  to  cut  out.  All  those 
kiiid  people  who  were  so  fond  of  me  had  suddenly  become  un- 
approachable, and  if  I  began  to  play  I  was  carried  out  of  the  room 
at  once.  Even  my  poor  nurse,  who  held  me  by  the  hand  and  took 
no  notice  of  my  shouting  and  pulling  at  her,  was  listening  and 
gazing  enraptured,  as  though  at  a  kind  of  paradise.  The  stern- 
ness of  those  sensible  faces  and  the  solemnity  with  which  they 
faced  the  task  of  cutting  out  is  for  some  reason  distressing  for 
me  to  picture  even  полу.  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  you  are  awfully 
fond  of  cutting  out.  Although  it  may  be  aristocratic,  yet  I  do 
prefer  a  woman  who  does  not  work  at  all.  Don't  take  that  as 
meant  for  you,  Sonia.  .  .  .  How  could  you,  indeed  !  Woman 
is  an  immense  power  without  working.  You  know  that,  though, 
Sonia.  What's  your  opinion,  Arkady  Makarovitch  ?  No  doubt 
you  disagree  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all,"  I  answered — "  that's  a  particularly  good 
saying  that  woman  is  an  immense  power,  though  I  don't  under- 
stand why  you  say  that  about  work.  And  she  can't  help  work- 
ing if  she  has  no  money — as  you  know  yourself." 

'•  Well,  that's  enough,"  and  he  tiuned  to  my  mother,  who 
positively  beamed  all  over  (when  he  addressed  me  she  was  all 
of  a  tremor)  ;  "  at  least,  to  begin  with,  I  beg  you  not  to  let  me 
see  you  doing  needlework  for  me.  No  doubt,  Arkady,  as  a  young 
man  of  the  period  you  are  something  of  a  socialist ;  well,  would 
you  believe  it,  my  dear  fellow,  none  are  so  fond  of  idleness  as 
the  toiling  masses." 

"  Rest  perhaps,  not  idleness." 

"  No,  idleness,  doing  nothing  ;  that's  their  ideal !  I  knew  a 
man  who  was  for  ever  at  work,  though  he  was  not  one  of  the 
common  people,  he  was  rather  intellectual  and  capable  of 
generalizing.  Every  day  of  his  life,  perhaps,  he  brooded  with 
blissful  emotion  en  visions  of  litter  idleness,  raising  the  ideal  to 
infinity,  so  to  speak,  to  unlimited  independence,  to  everlasting 
freedom,  dreaming,  and  idle  contemplation.  So  it  went  on  till 
he  broke  down  altogether  from  overwork.  There  was  no  mend- 
ing him,  he  died  in  a  hospital.  I  am  sometimes  seriously  dis- 
posed to  believe  that  the  delights  of  labour  have  been  invented 
by  the  idle,  from  virtuous  motives,  of  course.  It  is  one  of  the 
'  Geneva  ideas  '  of  the  end  of  last  century.  Tatyana  Pavlovna, 
I  cut  an  advertisement  out  of  the  newspaper  the  day  before 
yesterday,  here  it  is  "  ;  he  took  a  scrap  of  paper  out  of  his  waist- 

100 


coat  pocket.  "  It  is  one  of  those  everlasting  students,  proficient 
in  classics  and  mathematics  and  prepared  to  travel,  to  sleep 
in  a  garret  or  anywhere.  Here,  listen  :  '  A  teacher  (lady) 
prepares  for  all  the  scholastic  establishments  (do  you  hear,  for 
all)  and  gives  lessons  in  arithmetic  !  '  Prepares  for  all  the 
scholastic  establishments — in  arithmetic,  therefore,  may  we 
assimie  ?  No,  arithmetic  is  something  apart  for  her.  It  is  a 
case  of  simple  hunger,  the  last  extremity  of  want.  It  is  ju&t 
the  ineptitude  of  it  that's  so  touching  :  it's  evident  that  the  lady 
has  never  prepared  anyone  for  any  school,  and  it  is  doubtful 
whether  she  is  fit  to  teach  anything.  Yet  at  her  last  gasp  she 
wastes  her  one  remaining  rouble  and  prints  in  the  paper  that 
she  prepares  for  all  the  scholastic  establishments,  and  what's 
more,  gives  lessons  in  arithmetic.  Per  tuUo  mundo  e  in  aliri 
sitiy 

"  Oh,  Andrey  Petrovitch,  she  ought  to  be  helped  I  Where 
does  she  live  ?  "   cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna. 

"  Oh,  there  are  lots  of  them  !  "  He  put  the  advertisement 
in  his  pocket.  "  That  bag's  full  of  treats  for  you,  Liza,  and 
you,  Tatyana  Pavlovna ;  Sonia  and  I  don't  care  for  sweet  things. 
And  perhaps  for  you,  young  man.  I  bought  the  things  myself 
at  Eliseyev's  and  at  Balle's.  Too  long  we've  gone  hungry,  as 
Lukerya  said.  (N.B. — None  of  us  had  ever  gone  hungry.)  Here 
are  grapes,  sweets,  duchesses  and  strawberry  tarts ;  I've  even 
brought  some  excellent  liqueur  ;  nuts,  too.  It's  curious  that  to  this 
day  I'm  fond  of  nuts  as  I  have  been  from  a  child,  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  and  of  the  commonest  nuts,  do  you  know.  Liza 
takes  after  me ;  she  is  fond  of  cracking  nuts  like  a  squirrel.  But 
there's  nothing  more  charming,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  than  some- 
times when  recalling  one's  childhood  to  imagine  oneself  in  a 
wood,  in  a  copse,  gathering  nuts.  .  .  .  The  days  are  almost 
autumnal,  but  bright ;  at  times  it's  so  fresh,  one  hides  in  the 
bushes,  one  wanders  in  the  wood,  there's  a  scent  of  leaves.  .  .  . 
I  seem  to  see  something  sympathetic  in  your  face,  Arkady 
Makarovitch  ?  " 

"  The  early  years  of  my  childhood,  too,  were  spent  in  the 
country." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  brought  up  in  Moscow,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken." 

"  He  was  Hving  in  Moscow  at  the  Andronikovs'  when  you 
went  there  ;  but  till  then  he  used  to  live  in  the  country  with 
your  aunt,  Varvara  Stepanovna,"  Tatyana  Pavlovna  put  in. 

lOI 


"  Sonia,  here's  some  money,  put  it  away.  I  promise  you,  in  a 
few  days,  five  thousand." 

"  So  there's  no  hope  then  for  the  Sokolskys  ?  "  asked  Tatyana 
Pavlovna. 

"  Absolutely  none,  Tatyana  Pavlovna." 

"  I  have  always  sympathized  with  you  and  all  of  yours, 
Audrey  Petrovitch,  and  I  have  always  been  a  friend  of  the  family, 
but  though  the  Sokolskys  are  strangers,  yet,  upon  my  word,  I 
am  sorry  for  them.     Don't  be  angry,  Audrey  Petrovitch." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  going  shares  with  them,  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  !  " 

"  You  know  my  idea,  of  course,  Audrey  Petrovitch ;  they 
would  have  settled  the  case  out  of  court,  if  at  the  very  beginning 
you  had  offered  to  go  halves  with  them  ;  now,  of  course,  it  is 
too  late.  Not  that  I  venture  to  criticize.  ...  I  say  so  because 
I  don't  think  the  deceased  would  have  left  them  out  of  his  will 
altogether." 

"  Not  only  he  wouldn't  have  left  them  out,  he'd  have  certainly 
left  them  everything,  and  would  have  left  none  out  but  me,  if 
he'd  known  how  to  do  things  and  to  write  a  will  properly  ;  but 
as  it  is,  the  law's  on  my  side,  and  it's  settled.  I  can't  go  shares, 
and  I  don't  want  to,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  that  is  the  end  of 
the  matter." 

He  spoke  with  real  exasperation,  a  thing  he  rarely  allowed  him- 
self to  do.  Tatyana  Pavlovna  subsided.  My  mother  looked 
down  mournfully.  Versilov  knew  that  she  shared  Tatyana 
Pavlovna's  views. 

"  He  has  not  forgotten  that  slap  in  the  face  at  Ems,"  I  thought 
to  myself.  The  document  given  me  by  Kraft  and  at  that 
moment  in  my  pocket  would  have  a  poor  chance  if  it  had  fallen 
into  his  bands.  I  suddenly  felt  that  the  whole  responsibility 
was  still  weighing  upon  me,  and  this  idea,  together  with  all  the 
rest,  had,  of  course,  an  irritating  effect  upon  me. 

"  Arkady,  I  should  like  you  to  be  better  dressed,  my  dear 
fellow  ;  your  suit  is  all  right,  but  for  future  contingencies  I 
might  recommend  you  to  an  excellent  Frenchman,  most  consci- 
entious and  possessed  of  taste." 

"  I  beg  you  never  to  make  such  suggestions  again,"  I  burst 
out  suddenly. 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  that  I  consider  it  humiliating,  of  course,  but  we  are 
not  agreed  about  anything ;  on  the  contrary,  our  views  are  entirely 

102 


opposed,  for  in  a  day  or  two — to-morrow — I  shall  give  up  going 
to  the  prince's,  as  I  find  there  is  absolutely  no  work  for  me  to 
do  there." 

"  But  you  are  going  and  sitting  there  with  him — that  is  the 
work." 

"  Such  ideas  are  degrading." 

"  I  don't  understand  ;  but  if  you  are  so  squeamish,  don't  take 
money  from  him,  but  simply  go.  You  Mill  distress  him  horribly, 
he  has  already  become  attached  to  you,  I  assure  з^ои.  .  .  How- 
ever, as  you  please.  .  .  ."     He  was  evidently  put  out. 

"  You  say,  don't  ask  for  money,  but  thanks  to  you  I  did  a 
mean  thing  to-day  :  you  did  not  warn  me,  and  I  demanded  my 
month's  salary  from  him  to-day." 

"  So  you  have  seen  to  that  already  ;  I  confess  I  did  not 
expect  you  to  ask  for  it ;  but  how  sharp  you  all  are  nowadays  ! 
There  are  no  young  people  in  these  days,  Tatyana  Pavlovna." 
He  was  very  spiteful :  I  was  awfully  angry  too. 

"  I  ought  to  have  had  things  out  with  you  .  .  .  you  made  me 
do  it,  I  don't  know  now  how  it's  to  be." 

"  By  the  way,  Sonia,  give  Arkady  back  his  sixty  roubles  at 
once  ;  and  you,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  be  angry  at  our  repaying 
it  so  quickly.  I  can  guess  from  your  face  that  you  have  some 
enterprise  in  your  mind  and  that  you  need  it.  ...  So  invest  it 
...  or  something  of  the  sort." 

"  I  don't  know  what  my  face  expresses,  but  I  did  not  expect 
mother  would  have  told  you  of  that  money  when  I  so  particularly 
asked  her.  ..."  I  looked  at  my  mother  with  flashing  eyes,  I 
cannot  express  how  wounded  I  felt. 

"  Arkasha,  darling,  for  God's  sake  forgive  me,  I  couldn't 
possibly  help  speaking  of  it.  .  .  ." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  don't  make  a  grievance  of  her  telling  me  your 
secrets  :  besides,  she  did  it  with  the  best  intentions — it  was 
simply  a  mother's  longing  to  boast  of  her  son's  feelmg  for  her. 
But  I  assure  you  I  should  have  guessed  without  that  you  were 
a  capitalist.  All  your  secrets  are  written  on  your  honest 
countenance.  He  has  '  his  idea,'  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  as  I  told 
you." 

"  Let's  drop  my  honest  countenance,"  I  burst  out  again. 
"  I  know  that  you  often  see  right  through  things,  but  in  some 
cases  you  see  no  further  than  your  own  nose,  and  I  have  marvelled 
at  your  powers  of  penetration.  Well  then,  I  have  '  my  idea,' 
That  j'ou  should  use  that  expression,  of  course,  was  an  accident, 

103 


but  I  am  not  afraid  to  admit  it ;  I  have  '  an  idea  '  of  my  own, 
I  am  not  afraid  and  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it." 

"  Don't  be  ashamed,  that's  the  chief  thing." 

"  And  all  the  same  I  shall  never  tell  it  you." 

"  That's  to  say  you  won't  condescend  to  ;  no  need  to,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  know  the  nature  of  3'our  idea  as  it  is  ;  in  any  case  it 
implies  : 

Into  the  wilderness  I  flee. 

Tatyana  Pavlovna,  my  notion  is  that  he  wants  ...  to  become  a 
Rothschild,  or  something  of  the  kind,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his 
grandeur.  .  .  .  No  doubt  he'll  magnanimously  allow  us  a  jDension, 
though  perhaps  he  won't  allow  me  one — but  in  any  case  he  will 
vanish  from  our  sight.  Like  the  new  moon  he  has  risen,  only 
to  set  again." 

I  shuddered  in  my  inmost  being;  of  course,  it  was  all  chance; 
he  knew  nothing  of  my  idea  and  was  not  speaking  about  it,  though 
he  did  mention  Rothschild  ;  but  how  could  he  define  my  feelings 
so  precisely,  my  impulse  to  break  with  them  and  go  away  ?  He 
divined  everything  and  wanted  to  defile  beforehand  with  his 
cynicism  the  tragedy  of  fact.  That  he  was  horribly  angry,  of 
that  there  could  be  no  doubt. 

"  Mother,  forgive  my  hastiness,  for  I  see  that  there's  no  hiding 
things  from  Andrey  Petrovitch  in  any  case,"  I  said,  affecting  to 
laugh  and  trying  if  only  for  a  moment  to  turn  it  into  a  joke. 

"  That's  the  very  best  thing  you  can  do,  my  dear  fellow,  to 
laugh.  It  is  difficult  to  realize  how  much  every  one  gains  by 
laughing  even  in  appearance ;  I  am  speaking  most  seriously. 
He  always  has  an  air,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  of  having  something 
so  important  on  his  mind,  that  he  is  quite  abashed  at  the  circum- 
stance himself." 

"  I  must  ask  you  in  earnest,  Andrey  Petrovitch,  to  be  more 
careful  what  you  say." 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear  boy  ;  but  one  must  speak  out  once 
for  all,  so  as  never  to  touch  upon  the  matter  again.  You  have 
come  to  us  from  Moscow,  to  bogin  making  trouble  at  once. 
That's  all  we  know  as  yet  of  3-our  object  in  coming.  I  say 
nothing,  of  course,  of  your  having  come  to  surprise  us  in  some 
way.  And  all  this  month  you  have  been  snorting  and  sneering 
at  us.  Yet  you  are  obviously  an  intelligent  person,  and  as  such 
you  might  leave  such  snorting  and  sneering  to  those  who  have 
no  other  moans  of  avenging  themselves  on  others  for  their  own 

104 


insignificance.  You  are  always  shutting  yourself  up,  though 
your  honest  countenance  and  your  rosy  cheeks  bear  witness  that 
you  might  look  every  one  straight  in  the  face  with  perfect 
innocence.  He's  a  neurotic ;  I  can't  make  out,  TatyanaPavlovna, 
why  they  are  all  neurotic  nowadays.  .  .  ?  " 

"  If  you  did  not  even  know  where  I  was  brought  up,  you  are 
not  likely  to  know  why  a  man's  neurotic." 

"  Oh,  so  that's  the  key  to  it  !  You  are  offended  at  my  being 
capable  of  forgetting  where  you  were  brought  up  !  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Don't  attribute  such  silly  ideas  to  me. 
Mother  !  Andrey  Petrovitch  praised  me  just  now  for  laughing  ; 
let  us  laugh — why  sit  like  this  !  Shall  I  tell  you  a  little  anec- 
dote about  myself  ?  Especially  as  Andrey  Petrovitch  knows 
nothing  of  my  adventures." 

I  was  boiling.  I  knew  this  was  the  last  time  we  should  be 
sitting  together  like  this,  that  when  I  left  that  house  I  should 
never  enter  it  again,  and  so  on  the  eve  of  it  all  I  could  not  restrain 
myself.     He  had  challenged  me  to  such  a  parting  scene  himself. 

"  That  will  be  delightful,  of  course,  if  it  is  really  amusing,"  he 
observed,  looking  at  me  searchingly.  "  Your  manners  were 
rather  neglected  where  you  were  brought  up,  my  dear  fellow, 
though  they  are  pretty  passable.  He  is  charming  to-day, 
Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  it's  a  good  thing  you  have  undone  that 
bag  at  last." 

But  Tatyana  Pavlovna  frowned  ;  she  did  not  even  turn  round 
at  his  words,  but  went  on  untying  the  parcels  and  laying  out 
the  good  things  on  some  plates  which  had  been  brought  in.  My 
mother,  too,  was  sitting  in  complete  bewilderment,  though  she 
had  misgivings,  of  course,  and  realized  that  there  would  be 
trouble  between  us.     My  sister  touched  my  elbow  again. 


"  I  simply  want  to  tell  you  all,"  I  began,  with  a  very  free- 
and-eas}'  air,  "  how  a  father  met  for  the  first  time  a  dearly 
foved  son  :  it  happened  '  wherever  you  were  brought  up  '  .  .  ." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  won't  it  be  ...  a  dull  story  ?  You  know, 
tous  les  genres.  ..." 

"  Don't  frown.  Andrey  Petrovitch,  I  am  not  speaking  at  all 
with  the  object  \'ou  imagine.  All  I  want  is  to  make  every  one 
laugh.'' 

"  Well,  God  hears  you,  my  dear  boy.     I  know  that  you  love  us 

105 


all  .  .  .  and  don't  want  to  spoil  our  evening,"  he  mumbled  with 
a  sort  of  affected  carelessness. 

"  Of  course,  you  have  gusesed  by  my  face  that  I  love  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  partly  by  your  face,  too." 

"  Just  as  I  guessed  from  her  face  that  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  in 
love  with  me.  Don't  look  at  me  so  ferociously,  Tatyana  Pavlovna, 
it  is  better  to  laugh  !  it  is  better  to  laugh  !  " 

She  turned  quickly  to  me,  and  gave  me  a  searching  look  which 
lasted  half  a  minute. 

"  Mind  now,"  she  said,  holding  up  her  finger  at  me,  but  so 
earnestly  that  her  words  could  not  have  referred  to  my  stupid 
joke,  but  must  have  been  meant  as  a  warning  in  case  I  might 
be  up  to  some  mischief. 

"  Audrey  Petrovitch,  is  it  possible  you  don't  remember  how 
we  met  for  the  first  time  in  our  lives  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  word  I've  forgotten,  my  dear  fellow,  and  I  am  really 
very  sorry.  All  that  I  remember  is  that  it  was  a  long  time  ago 
.  .  .  and  took  place  somewhere.  .  .  ." 

"  Mother,  and  don't  you  remember  how  you  were  in  the 
country,  where  I  was  brought  up,  till  I  was  six  or  seven  I  believe, 
or  rather  were  you  really  there  once,  or  is  it  simply  a  dream  that 
I  saw  you  there  for  the  first  time  ?  I  have  been  wanting  to  ask 
you  about  it  for  a  long  time,  but  I've  kept  putting  it  off  ;  now 
the  time  has  come." 

"  To  be  sure,  Arkasha,  to  be  sure  I  stayed  with  Varvara 
Stepanovna  three  times  ;  my  first  visit  was  when  you  were 
only  a  year  old,  I  came  a  second  time  when  you  were  nearly  four, 
and  afterwards  again  when  you  were  six." 

"  Ah,  you  did  then  ;  I  have  been  wanting  to  ask  you  about  it 
all  this  month." 

My  mother  seemed  overwhelmed  by  a  rush  of  memories,  and 
she  asked  me  with  feeling  : 

"  Do  you  really  mean,  Arkasha,  that  you  remembered  ma 
there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  or  remember  anything,  only  something  of  your 
face  remained  in  my  heart  for  the  rest  of  my  life,  and  the  fact, 
too,  that  you  were  my  mother.  I  recall  everything  there  as 
though  it  were  a  dream,  I've  even  forgotten  my  nurse.  I  have 
a  faint  recollection  of  Varvara  Stepanovna,  simply  that  her  face 
was  tied  up  for  toothache.  I  remember  huge  trees  near  the  house 
— lime-trees  I  think  they  were — then  sometimes  the  brilliant  sun- 
shine at  the  open  windows,  the  little  flower  garden,  the  little 

1 06 


path,  and  you,  mother,  I  remember  clearly  only  at  one  moment 
when  I  was  taken  to  the  church  there,  and  you  held  me  up 
to  receive  the  sacrament  and  to  kiss  the  chalice  ;  it  was  in  the 
summer,  and  a  dove  flew  through  the  cupola,  in  at  one  window 
and  out  at  another.  .  ,  ." 

"  Mercy  on  us,  that's  just  how  it  was,"  cried  my  mother, 
throwing  up  her  hands,  "  and  the  dear  dove  I  remember,  too, 
now.  With  the  chalice  just  before  you,  you  started,  and  cried 
out,  '  a  dove,  a  dove.'  " 

"  Your  face  or  something  of  the  expression  remained  in  my 
memory  so  distinctly  that  I  recognized  you  five  years  after  in 
Moscow,  though  nobody  there  told  me  you  were  my  mother.  But 
when  I  met  Audrey  Petrovitch  for  the  first  time,  I  was  brought 
from  the  Andronikovs'  ;  I  had  been  vegetating  quietly  and 
happily  with  them  for  five  years  on  end.  I  remember  their  flat 
down  to  the  smallest  detail,  and  all  those  ladies  who  have  all 
grown  so  much  older  here  ;  and  the  whole  household,  and  how 
Andronikov  himself  used  to  bring  the  provisions,  poultry,  fish, 
and  sucking-pigs  from  the  town  in  a  fish-basket.  And  how  at 
dinner  instead  of  his  wife,  who  always  gave  herself  such  air.^, 
he  used  to  help  the  soup,  and  how  we  aU  laughed  at  his  doing  it, 
he  most  of  all.  The  young  ladies  there  used  to  teach  me  French. 
But  what  I  liked  best  of  all  was  KJrylov's  Fables.  I  learned  a 
number  of  them  by  heart  and  every  day  I  used  to  recite  one  to 
Andronikov.  .  .  .going  straight  into  his  tiny  study  to  do  so 
without  considering  whether  he  were  busy  or  not.  Well,  it  was 
through  a  fable  of  ELrylov's  that  I  got  to  know  you,  Audrey 
Petrovitch.     I  see  you  are  beginning  to  remember." 

'■  I  do  recall  something,  my  dear  fellow,  that  you  repeated 
something  to  me  ...  a  fable  or  a  passage  from  '  Woe  from  Wit,* 
I  fancy.     What  a  memory  you  have,  though  !  " 

"  A  memory  !  I  should  think  so  !  it's  the  one  thing  I've 
remembered  all  my  life." 

"  That's  all  right,  that's  all  right,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are 
quite  waking  me  up." 

He  actually  smiled  ;  as  soon  as  he  smiled,  my  mother  and 
sister  smiled  after  him,  confidence  was  restored  ;  but  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,who  had  finished  laying  out  the  good  things  on  the 
table  and  settled  herself  in  a  corner,  still  bent  upon  me  a  keen  and 
disapproving  eye.  "  This  is  how  it  happened,"  I  went  on  :  "  one 
fine  morning  there  suddenly  appeared  the  friend  of  my  childhood, 
Tatyana  Pavlovna,  who  always  made  her  entrance  on  the  stage 

107 


of  my  existence  with  dramatic  suddenness.  She  took  me  away 
in  a  carriage  to  a  grand  house,  to  sumptuous  apartments.  You 
were  staying  at  Madame  Fanariotov's,  Audrey  Petrovitch,  in 
her  empty  house,  which  she  had  bought  from  you  ;  she  was 
abroad  at  that  time.  I  always  used  to  wear  short  jackets  ; 
now  all  of  a  sudden  I  was  put  into  a  pretty  little  blue  greatcoat, 
and  a  very  fine  shirt.  Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  busy  with  me  all 
day  and  bought  me  lots  of  things  ;  I  kept  walking  through  all  the 
empty  rooms,  looking  at  myself  in  all  the  looking-glasses.  And 
wandering  about  in  the  same  way  the  next  morning,  at  ten 
o'clock,  I  walked  quite  by  chance  into  your  study.  I  had  seen  you 
already  the  evening  before,  as  soon  as  I  was  brought  into  the  house, 
but  only  for  an  instant  on  the  stairs.  You  were  coming  down- 
stairs to  get  into  your  carriage  and  drive  off  somewhere ;  j'ou 
were  staying  alone  in  Moscow  then,  for  a  short  time  after  a  very 
long  absence,  so  that  you  had  engagements  in  all  directions 
and  were  scarcely  ever  at  home.  When  you  met  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  and  me  you  only  drawled  '  Ah ! '  and  did  not  even 
stop." 

"  He  describes  it  with  a  special  love,"  observed  Versilov, 
addressing  Tatyana  Pavlovna  ;  she  turned  away  and  did  not 
answer. 

"  I  can  see  you  now  as  you  were  then,  handsome  and  flourish- 
ing. It  is  wonderful  how  much  older  and  less  good-looking  j'ou 
have  grown  in  these  years  ;  please  forgive  this  candour,  you  were 
thirtj'-seven  even  then,  though.  I  gazed  at  you  with  admiration  ; 
what  wonderful  hair  you  had,  almost  jet  black,  with  a  brilliant 
lustre  without  a  trace  of  grey ;  moustaches  and  whiskers,  like 
the  setting  of  a  jewel  :  I  can  find  no  other  expression  for  it ; 
your  face  of  an  even  pallor ;  not  like  its  sickly  pallor  to-day, 
but  like  your  daughter,  Anna  Andreyevna,  whom  I  had  the 
honour  of  seeing  this  morning  ;  dark,  glowing  eyes,  and  gleam- 
ing teeth,  especially  when  you  laughed.  And  you  did  laugh, 
when  you  looked  round  as  I  came  in  ;  I  was  not  very  discrimin- 
ating at  that  time,  and  j'our  smile  rejoiced  my  heart.  That 
morning  you  were  wearing  a  dark  blue  velvet  jacket,  a  sulphur 
coloured  necktie,  and  a  magnificent  shirt  with  А1еп90п  lace  on 
it ;  you  were  standing  before  the  looking-glass  with  a  manu- 
script in  your  hand,  and  were  busy  declaiming  Tchatsky's  mono- 
logue, and  especially  his  last  exclamation  :  *  A  coach,  I  want 
a  coach.'  " 

"  Good    heavens  1 "     cried    Versilov.     "  Why,     he's    right  ! 

I08 


Though  I  was  only  in  Moscow  for  so  short  a  time,  I  undertook  to 
play  Tchatsky  in  an  amateur  performance  at  Alexandra  Petrovna 
Vitovtov's  in  place  of  Zhileyko,  who  was  ill  !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  had  forgotten  it  ?  "  laughed 
Tatyana  Pavlovna. 

"  He  has  brought  it  back  to  my  mind  !  And  I  own  that  those 
few  days  in  Moscow  were  perhaps  the  happiest  in  my  life  !  We 
were  still  so  young  then  .  .  .  and  all  so  fervently  expecting 
sometliing.  ...  It  was  then  in  Moscow  I  unexpectedly  met  so 
much.  .  .  .  But  go  on,  my  dear  fellow  :  this  time  you've  done 
well  to  remember  it  all  so  exactly.  ..." 

"  I  stood  still  to  look  at  you  and  suddenly  cried  out,  '  Ah,  how 
good,  the  real  Tchatsky  '  You  turned  round  at  once  and 
asked  :  '  Why,  do  you  know  Tchatsky  already  ?  '  and  you  sat 
down  on  a  sofa,  and  began  drinking  your  coffee  in  the  most 
charming  humour — I  could  have  kissed  you.  Then  I  informed 
you  that  at  the  Andronikovs'  every  one  read  a  great  deal,  and 
that  the  young  ladies  knew  a  great  deal  of  poetry  by  heart, 
and  used  to  act  scenes  out  of  '  Woe  from  Wit '  among  themselves, 
and  that  all  last  week  we  had  been  reading  aloud  in  the  evening 
'  A  Sportsman's  Sketches,'  but  what  I  liked  best  of  all  was 
Krylov's  Fables,  and  that  I  knew  them  by  heart.  You  told 
me  to  repeat  one,  and  I  repeated  '  The  Girl  who  was  Hard  to 
Please.'  " 

A  maid  her  suitor  shrewdly  scanned. 

"  Yes  !  Yes  !  I  remember  it  all  now,"  cried  Versilov  again  ; 
"  but,  my  dear  fellow,  I  remember  you,  too,  clearly  now  ;  3'ou 
were  such  a  charming  boy  then,  a  thoughtful  boy  even,  and,  I 
assure  you,  you,  too,  have  changed  for  the  worse  in  the  course  of 
these  nine  years." 

At  this  point  all  of  them,  even  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  laughed. 
It  was  evident  that  Andrey  Petrovitch  had  deigned  to  jest,  and 
had  i)aid  me  out  in  the  same  coin  for  my  biting  remark  about  his 
having  grown  old.  Every  one  was  amused,  and  indeed,  it  was 
well  said. 

"  As  I  recited,  you  smiled,  but  before  I  was  half-way  through 
the  fable  you  rang  the  bell  and  told  the  footman  who  answered 
it  to  ask  Tatyana  Pavlovna  to  come,  and  she  ran  in  with  such 
a  delighted  face,  that  though  I  had  seen  her  the  evening  before 
I  scarcely  knew  her.  For  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  I  began  the  fable 
again,  I  finished  it  brilliantly,  even  Tatyana  Pavlovna  smiled, 

109 


and   you,    Andrey   Petrovitch   cried    '  Bravo  ! '     and   observed 
with  warmth  that  if  it  had  been  '  The  Ant  and  the  Grasshopper ' 
it  would  not  be  wonderful  that  a  sensible  boy  of  my  age  should 
ecite  it  sensibly,  but  this  fable 

A  maid  her  suitor  shrewdly  scanned. 
Indeed,  that's  not  a  crime. 

was  different.  "  Listen  how  he  brings "out  *  Indeed,  that's  not  a 
crime,'  "  you  said  ;  in  fact,  you  were  enthusiastic.  Then  you  said 
something  in  French  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  she  instantly 
frowned  and  began  to  protest,  and  grew  very  hot,  in  fact ;  but  as 
it  was  impossible  to  oppose  Andrey  Petrovitch  if  he  once  took 
an  idea  into  his  head,  she  hurriedly  carried  me  ofiF  to  her  room, 
there  my  hands  and  face  were  washed  again,  my  shirt  was 
changed,  my  hair  was  pomaded  and  even  curled. 

"  Then  towards  evening  Tatyana  Pavlovna  dressed  herself  up 
rather  grandly  as  I  had  never  expected  to  see  her,  and  she  took 
me  with  her  in  the  carriage.  It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life 
I  had  been  to  a  play  ;  it  was  at  a  private  performance  at  Mmei 
Vitovtov's.  The  lights,  the  chandeliers,  the  ladies,  the  officers, 
the  generals,  the  young  ladies,  the  curtain,  the  rows  of  chairs, 
were  utterly  unlike  an)rthing  I  had  seen  before.  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  took  a  very  modest  seat  in  one  of  the  back  rows,  and 
made  me  sit  down  beside  her.  There  were,  of  course,  other 
children  like  me  in  the  room,  but  I  had  no  eyes  for  anything, 
I  simply  waited  with  a  sinking  of  my  heart  for  the  performance. 
When  you  came  on,  Andrey  Petrovitch,  I  was  ecstatic  to  the 
point  of  tears.  What  for  and  why,  I  don't  understand.  Why 
those  tears  of  rapture  ?  It  has  been  a  strange  recollection  for 
me  ever  since,  for  these  last  nine  years  !  I  followed  the  drama 
with  a  throbbing  heart ;  all  I  understood  of  it,  of  course,  was  that 
she  was  deceiving  him,  and  that  he  was  ridiculed  by  stupid  people 
who  were  not  worth  his  little  finger.  When  he  was  reciting  at 
the  ball  I  understood  that  he  was  humiliated  and  insulted,  that  he 
was  reproaching  all  these  miserable  people,  but  that  he  was — 
great,  great  !  No  doubt  my  training  at  the  Andronikovs'  helped 
me  to  understand,  and  your  acting,  Andrey  Petrovitch  !  It 
was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  a  play  !  When  you  went  off  shout- 
ing '  A  coach,  a  coach  !  *  (and  you  did  that  shout  wonderfully) 
I  jumped  up  from  my  seat,  and  while  the  whole  audience  burst 
into  applause,  I,  too,  clapped  my  hands  and  cried  '  bravo  '  at 
the  top  of  my  voice.     I  vividly  recall  how  at  that  instant  I  felt 

no 


as  though  I  had  been  pierced  by  a  pin  in  my  back  'a  little 
below  the  waist ' ;  Tatyana  Pavlovna  had  given  me  a 
ferocious  pinch  ;  but  I  took  no  notice  of  it.  As  soon  as 
'  Woe  from  Wit '  was  over,  Tatyana  Pavlovna  took  me 
home,  of  course.  *  You  can't  stay  for  the  dancing,  and  it's  only 
on  your  account  J  am  not  staying  ! '  you  hissed  at  Ine  all  the 
way  home  in  the  carriage,  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  All  night  I  was 
delirious,  and  by  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  I  was  standing 
at  the  study  door,  but  it  was  shut ;  there  were  people  with  you 
and  you  were  engaged  in  some  business  with  them  ;  then  you 
drove  off  and  were  away  the  whole  day  till  late  at  night — so  I 
did  not  see  you  again  !  What  I  meant  to  say  to  you,  I  have 
forgotten,  of  course,  and  indeed  I  did  not  know  then,  but  I 
longed  passionately  to  see  you  as  soon  as  possible.  And  at  eight 
o'clock  next  morning  you  were  graciously  pleased  to  set  off  for 
Serpuhov  ;  at  that  time  you  had  just  sold  уопт  Tula  estate  to 
settle  with  your  creditors,  but  there  was  still  left  in  your  hands 
a  tempting  stake  ;  that  was  why  you  had  come  at  that  time  to 
Moscow,  where  you  had  not  been  able  to  show  yourself  till  then 
for  fear  of  your  creditors,  and  this  Serpuhov  ruffian  was  the 
only  one  of  them  who  had  not  agreed  to  take  half  of  what  you 
owed  him  instead  of  the  whole.  When  I  questioned  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  she  did  not  even  answer  me.  *  It's  no  business  of 
yours,  but  the  day  after  to-morrow  I  shall  take  you  to  yoiur 
boarding  school :  get  your  exercise-books  ready,  take  your 
lesson  books,  put  them  all  in  order,  and  you  must  learn  to  pack 
your  little  box  yourself,  you  can't  expect  to  be  waited  on,  sir.' 
You  were  drumming  this  and  that  into  my  ears  all  those  three 
days,  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  It  ended  in  my  being  taken  in  my 
innocence  to  school  at  Touchard's,  adoring  you,  Andrey 
Petrovitch  ;  our  whole  meeting  was  a  trivial  incident,  perhaps, 
but  would  you  believe  it^  six  months  afterwards  I  longed  to  run 
away  from  Touchard's  to  you  !  " 

"  You  describe  it  capitally,  you  have  brought  it  all  back  so 
vividly,"  Versilov  pronounced  incisively  ;  "  but  what  strikes  me 
most  in  your  story  is  the  wealth  of  certain  strange  details,  con- 
cerning my  debts,  for  instance.  Apart  from  the  fact  that  these 
details  are  hardly  a  suitable  subject  for  you  to  discuss,  I  can't 
imagine  how  you  managed  to  get  hold  of  them." 

"  Details  ?  how  I  got  hold  of  them  ?  Why  I  repeat,  for  the 
last  nine  years  I  have  been  doing  nothing  but  getting  hold  of 
facts  about  you." 

Ill 


"  A  strange  confession,  and  a  strange  way  of  spending  your  time." 

He  turned  half-reclining  in  his  easy  chair,  and  even  yawned 
slightly,  whether  intentionally  or  not  I  could  not  say. 

"  Well,  shall  I  go  on  telling  you  how  I  wanted  to  run  to  you 
from  Touchard's  ?  " 

'■  Forbid  him,  Andrey  Petrovitch ;  suppress  him  and  send  him 
away,"  Tatyana  Pavlovna  burst  out. 

"  That  won't  do,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,"  Versilov  answered  her 
impressively.  "  Arkasha  has  evidently  something  on  his  mind, 
and  so  he  must  be  allowed  to  finish.  Well,  let  him  speak  ! 
When  he's  said  what  he's  got  to  say,  it  will  be  off  his  mind,  and 
wljat  matters  most  to  him  is  that  he  should  get  it  off  his  mind. 
Begin  your  new  story,  my  dear  fellow  ;  I  call  it  new,  but  you  may 
rest  assured  that  I  кполу  how  it  ends." 


"  I  ran  away,  that  is,  I  tried  to  run  away  to  you,  very  simply. 
Tatyana  Pavlovna,  do  you  remember  after  I  had  been  there  a 
fortnight  Touchard  wrote  you  a  letter — didn't  he  ?  Marie 
Ivanovna  showed  me  the  letter  afterwards  ;  that  turned  up 
among  Andronikov's  papers,  too.  Touchard  suddenly  discovered 
that  the  fees  he  had  asked  were  too  small,  and  with  '  dignity  ' 
announced  in  his  lettr  to  you  '  that  little  princes  and  senator's 
children  were  educated  in  his  establishment,  and  that  it  was 
lowering  its  tone  to  keep  a  pupil  of  such  humble  origin  as  me 
unless  the  remuneration  were  increased." 

'*  Mon  cher,  you  really  might.  ..." 

"  Oh  that's  nothing,  that's  nothing,"  I  interrupted,  "  I  am 
only  going  to  say  a  little  about  Touchard.  You  Aviote  from  the 
provinces  a  fortnight  later,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  answered 
with  a  flat  refusal.  I  remember  how  he  walked  into  our  class- 
room, flushing  crimson.  He  was  a  very  short  thick-set  little 
Frenchman  of  five-and-forty,  a  Parisian  cobbler  by  origin, 
though  he  had  from  time  immemorial  held  a  position  in  Moscow 
as  an  instructor  in  the  French  language,  and  even  had  an 
official  rank,  of  which  he  was  extremely  proud  ;  he  was  a  man  of 
crass  ignorance.  There  were  only  six  of  us  pupils  ;  among  them 
tjiere  actually  was  a  nephew  of  a  Moscow  senator  ;  and  we  all 
lived  like  one  family  under  the  supervision  of  his  wife,  a  very 
affected  lady,  who  лгаз  the  daughter  of  a  Russian  government 
clerk.     During  that  fortnight  I   had  given   myself  great  airs 

112 


before  my  school-fellows.  I  boasted  of  my  blue  overcoat,  and 
my  papa,  Andrey  Petrovitch,  and  their  questions  :  why  I  was 
called  Dolgoruky  and  not  Vei-silov  did  not  embarrass  rae  in  the 
least,  since  I  did  not  know  why." 

"  Andrey  Petrovitch  !  "  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  in  a  v4)icc 
almost  menacing.  My  mother,  on  the  contrary,  was  watching 
me  intently,  and  evidently  wished  me  to  go  on. 

"  Ce  Touchard  ...  I  actually  recall  liim  now  ...  he  was  a 
fussy  little  man,"  Versilov  admitted  ;  '"  but  he  was  recommended 
to  me  by  the  very  best  people.  .  .  ." 

"  Ce  Touchard  walked  in  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  went  up 
to  the  big  oak  table,  at  which  all  six  of  us  were  seated  learning 
something  by  heart ;  he  seized  mc  firmly  b}-  the  shoulder,  picked 
me  up  from  the  chair,  and  ordered  me  to  collect  my  exercise- 
books.  '  Your  place  is  not  here  but  there,'  he  said,  pointing  to 
a  tiny  room  on  the  left  of  the  passage,  where  there  was  nothing 
but  a  plain  deal  table,  a  rush-bottom  chair,  and  an  American 
leather  sofa — exactly  like  what  I  have  upstairs  in  the  attic. 
I  went  into  it  in  amazement,  very  much  dowiicast ;  I  had  never 
been  roughly  treated  before.  Half  an  hour  later  when  Touchard 
had  gone  but  of  the  schoolroom,  I  began  to  exchange  glances  and 
smiles  with  my  schoolfellows  ;  they,  of  course,  were  laughing  at 
me  ;  but  I  had  no  suspicion  of  it  and  thought  we  were  laughing 
because  we  were  merry.  At  that  moment  Touchard  darted  in, 
seized  me  by  the  forelock,  and  dragged  me  about. 

"  '  Don't  you  dare  sit  with  gentlemanly  boys,  you  are  a  child 
of  low  origin  and  no  better  than  a  lackey.' 

"  And  he  gave  me  a  stinging  blow  on  my  chubby,  rosy  cheek. 
He  must  have  enjoyed  doing  so  and  ho  struck  me  a  second'time,' 
and  a  third.  I  cried  violently  and  was  terribly  astonished.  For 
a  whole  hour  I  sat  with  my  face  hidden  in  my  hands  crying  and 
crying.  Something  had  happened  Avhich  was  utterly  beyond 
my  comprehension.  1  don't  understand  how  a  man,  not  of 
spiteful  character,  a  foreigner  like  Touchard,  who  rejoiced  at 
th";  emancipation  of  the  Russian  peasants,  could  have  beaten 
a  foolish  child  like  me.  I  was  only  amazed,  not  resciitful,  how- 
ever. I  had  not  yet  learnt  to  resent  an  insult.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  I  had  somehow  been  naughty,  that  when  I  was  good  again 
I  should  be  forgiven,  and  that  we  should  all  be  merry  again  at 
once,  that  we  should  go  out  to  play  in  the  yard  and  live  happv 
ever  after." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  if  I  had  only  known.  .  .  .'"  Versilov  drawiod 

113 


with  the  careless  smile  of  a  rather  weary  man.  "  What  a  scoundrel 
that  Touchard  was,  though  !  I  have  not  given  up  all  hope, 
however,  that  you  may  make  an  effort  and  forgive  us  for  all  that 
at  last,  and  that  we  may  all  live  happy  ever  after." 

He  yawned  decisively. 

"  But  I  am  not  blaming  you  at  all,  and  believe  me,  I  am 
not  complaining  of  Touchard,"  I  cried,  a  little  disconcerted. 
"  Though,  indeed,  he  beat  me  for  ten  months  or  so.  I  re- 
member I  was  always  trying  to  appease  him  in  some  way  ;  I  used 
to  rush  to  kiss  his  hands,  I  was  always  kissing  them,  and  I  was 
always  crying  and  crying.  My  schoolfellows  laughed  at  me  and 
despised  me,  because  Touchard  began  to  treat  me  sometimes  like  a 
servant,  he  used  to  order  me  to  bring  him  his  clothes  when  he  was 
dressing.  My  menial  instincts  were  of  use  to  me  there  ;  I  did  my 
very  utmost  to  please  him,  and  was  not  in  the  least  offended,  be- 
cause I  did  not  at  that  time  understand  it  at  all,  and  I  am  sur- 
prised to  this  day  that  I  could  have  been  so  stupid  as  not  to  realize 
that  I  was  not  on  an  equal  footing  with  the  rest.  It's  true  my 
schoolfellows  made  many  things  clear  to  me  even  then ;  it  was  a 
good  school.  Touchard  came  in  the  end  to  prefer  giving  me  a 
kick  to  slapping  me  in  the  face,  and  six  months  later  he  even 
began  to  be  affectionate  ;  only  he  never  failed  to  beat  me  once 
a  month  or  so  to  remind  me  not  to  forget  myself.  He  soon  let 
me  sit  with  the  other  boys,  too,  and  allowed  me  to  play  with 
them, but  not  once  during  those  two  and  a  half  years  did  Touchard 
forget  the  difference  in  our  social  positions,  and  from  time  to 
time,  though  not  very  frequently,  he  employed  me  in  menial 
tasks,  I  verily  believe,  to  remind  me  of  it. 

*'  I  was  running  away ;  that's  to  say,  I  was  on  the  point  of 
running  away  for  five  months  after  those  first  two  months.  I 
have  always  been  slow  in  taking  action.  When  I  got  into  bed 
and  pulled  the  quilt  over  mc,  I  began  thinking  of  you  at  once, 
Andrey  Petrovitch,  only  of  you,  of  no  one  else  ;  I  don't  in  the 
least  know  why  it  was  so.  I  dreamed  about  you  too.  I  used 
always  to  be  passionately  imagining  that  you  would  walk  in, 
and  I  would  rush  up  to  you  and  you  would  take  me  out  of  that 
place,  and  bring  me  home  with  you  to  the  same  study,  and  that 
we  would  go  to  the  theatre  again,  and  so  on.  Above  all,  that  we 
should  not  part  again — that  was  the  chief  thing  !  As  soon  as  I 
had  to  wake  up  in  the  morning  the  jeers  and  contempt  of  the 
boys  began  again  ;  one  of  thcra  actually  began  beating  me  and 
making  me  put  on  his  boots  for  him ;    he  called  me  the  vilest 

114 


names,  particularly  aiming  at  making  my  origin  clear  to  me,  to 
the  div'ersion  of  all  who  heard  him.  When  at  last  Touchard 
himself  became  comprehensible,  something  unbearable  began  in 
my  soul.  I  felt  that  I  should  never  be  forgiven  here.  Oh,  I 
was  beginning  by  degrees  to  understand  what  it  was  they  would 
not  forgive  me  and  of  what  I  was  guilty  !  And  so  at  last  I 
resolved  to  run  away.  For  two  whole  months  I  dreamed  of  it 
incessantly ;  at  last — it  was  September — I  made  up  my  mind, 
I  waited  for  Saturday,  when  my  schoolfellows  used  to  go  home 
for  the  week-end,  and  meanwhile  I  secretly  and  carefully  got 
together  a  bundle  of  the  most  necessary  things  ;  all  the  money 
I  had  was  two  roubles.  I  meant  to  wait  till  dusk  ;  '  then  I  will 
go  downstairs,'  I  thought,  '  and  I'll  go  out  and  walk  away ! ' 
Where  ?  I  knew  that  Andronikov  had  moved  to  Petersburg, 
and  I  resolved  that  I  луоиИ  look  for  Mme.  Fanariotov's  house  in 
Arbaty  ;  '  I'll  spend  the  night  walking  or  sitting  somewhere, 
and  in  the  morning  I'll  asl^some  one  in  the  courtyard  of  the  house, 
where  Audrey  Petrovitch  'is  now,  and  if  not  in  Moscow,  in  what 
town  or  country.  They  will  be  sure  to  tell  me.  I'll  walk  away, 
and  then  ask  some  one,  somewhere  else,  by  which  gate  to  go  out 
to  reach  such  a  town  ;  and  then  I'll  go  and  walk  and  л\'а1к,  I 
shall  keep  on  walking  ;  I  shall  sleep  somewhere  under  the 
bushes  ;  I  shall  eat  nothing  but  bread,  and  for  two  roubks  I  can 
get  bread  enough  for  a  long  time.' 

"  I  could  not  manage  to  run  away  on  Saturday,  liov.evcr  ; 
I  had  to  wait  till  next  day,  Sunday,  and  as  luck  would  have  it, 
Touchard  and  his  wife  were  going  away  somewhere  for  the 
Sunday  ;  there  was  no  one  left  in  the  house  but  Agafya  and  me. 
I  awaited  the  night  in  terrible  agitation,  I  remember.  I  sat  at 
the  window  in  the  schoolroom,  looking  out  at  the  dusty  street, 
the  little  wooden  houses,  and  the  few  passers-by.  Touchard 
lived  in  an  out-of-the-waj''  street ;  from  the  windows  I  could  see 
one  of  the  city  gates  ;  '  Isn't  it  the  one  ? '  I  kept  wondering.  The 
sun  set  in  a  red  glow,  the  sky  was  so  cold-looldng,  and  a  piercing 
wind  was  stirring  up  the  dust,  just  as  it  is  to-day.  It  was  quite 
dark  at  last  ;  I  stood  before  the  ikon  and  began  to  pray,  only 
very,  very  quickly,  I  was  in  haste  ;  I  caught  up  my  bundle,  and 
went  on  tip- toe  down  the  creaking  stairs,  horribly  afraid  that 
Agafya  would  hear  me  from  the  kitchen.  The  door  was  locked, 
I  turned  the  key,  and  at  once  a  dark,  dark  night  loomed  black 
before  me  like  a  boundless  perilous  unknown  land,  and  the  wind 
snatched  off  my  cap.     I  was  just  going  out  on  the  same  side  of 

IIS 


the  pavement ;  I  heard  a  hoarse  volley  of  oaths  from  a  drunken 
man  in  the  street.  I  stood,  looked,  and  slowly  turned,  slowly 
went  upstairs,  slowly  took  off  my  things,  put  down  my  little 
bundle  and  lay  down  flat,  without  tears,  and  without  thoughts, 
and  it  was  from  that  moment,  Andrey  Petrovitch,  that  I  began 
to  think.  It  was  from  that  moment  that  I  realized  that  besides 
being  a  Iack?y,  I  was  a  coward,  too,  and  my  real  development 
began  !  " 

"  Well,  I  see  through  you  once  and  for  all  from  this  minute," 
cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  jumping  up  from  her  seat,  and  so 
suddenly,  that  I  was  utterly  unprepared  for  it ;  "  yes,  you  were 
not  only  a  lackey  then,  you  are  a  lackey  now  ;  you've  the  soul 
of  a  lackey  !  Why  should  not  Andrey  Petrovitch  have  appren- 
ticed you  to  a  shoemaker  ?  it  would  have  been  an  act  of  charity 
to  have  taught  you  a  trade  !  Who  would  have  expected  more 
than  that  of  him  ?  Your  father,  Makar  Ivanovitch,  asked — in 
fact,  he  insisted — that  you,  his  children,  should  not  be  brought 
up  to  be  above  your  station.  Why,  3'ou  think  nothing  of  his 
having  educated  you  for  the  university,  and  that  through  him 
you  have  received  class  rights.  The  little  rascals  teased  him, 
to  be  sure,  so  he  has  sworn  to  avenge  himself  on  humanity.  .  .  . 
You  scoundrel  !  " 

I  must  confess  I  was  struck  dumb  by  this  outburst,  I  got  up 
and  stood  for  some  time  staring  and  not  knowing  what  to  saj . 

"  Well,  certainly  Tatyana  Pavlovna  has  told  me  something 
new,"  I  said  at  last,  turning  resolutely  to  Versilov  ;  "  yes, 
certainly  I  am  such  a  lackey  that  I  can't  be  satisfied  with  Versilov's 
not  having  apprenticed  me  to  a  shoemaker  ;  even  '  rights  '  did 
not  touch  me.  I  wanted  the  whole  of  Versilov,  I  wanted  a 
father  .  .  .  that's  what  I  asked  for — like  a  regular  lackey. 
Mother,  I've  had  it  on  my  conscience  for  eight  years — when  you 
came  to  Moscow  alone  to  see  me  at  Touchard's,  the  way  I  re- 
ceived you  then,  but  I  have  no  time  to  speak  of  it  now.  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  won't  let  me  tell  my  story,  Good-bye  till  to-morrow, 
mother;  we  may  see  each  other  again.  Tatj'ana  Pavlovna! 
what  if  I  am  so  xitterly  a  lackey  that  I  am  quite  unable  to  admit 
the  pos.'sibility  of  a  man's  marrying  again  when  his  wife  is  alive? 
Yet  you  know  that  all  but  happened  to  Andrey  Petrovitch  at 
Ems  !  Mother,  if  you  don't  want  to  stay  with  a  husband  who 
may  take  another  wife  to-morrow,  remember  you  have  a  son 
who  promi.ses  to  be  a  dutiful  son  to  you  for  ever ;  remember,  and 
let  us  go  away,  only  on  condition  that  it  is  'either  he,  or  I  *  will 

116 


you  ?     I  don't  ask  you  for  an  answer  at  once,  of  course  :    I 
know  that  such  questions  can't  be  answered  straight  off." 

But  I  could  not  go  on,  partly  because  I  was  excited  and 
confused.  My  mother  turned  pale  and  her  voice  seemed  to 
fail  her  :  she  could  not  utter  a  uord.  Tatyana  Pavlovna  said 
something  in  a  very  loud  voice  and  at  great  ler.gth  which  I  could 
not  make  out,  and  twnce  she  pushed  me  on  the  shoulder  Mith 
her  fist.  I  only  remember  that  she  shouted  that  "  my  words 
were  a  sham,  the  broodings  of  a  petty  soul,  counted  over  and 
turned  inside  out."  Versilov  sat  motionless  and  very  serious, 
he  was  not  smiling.  I  went  upstairs  to  my  room.  The  last 
thing  I  saw  as  I  went  out  was  the  reproach  in  my  sister's  eyes  ; 
she  shook  her  head  at  me  sternly. 


CHAPTER  VII 


I  DESCRIBE  all  these  scenes  without  sparing  myself,  in  order  to 
recall  it  clearly  and  revive  the  impression.  As  I  went  up  to  my 
attic,  I  did  not  know  in  the  least  whether  I  ought  to  be  ashamed 
or  triumphant  as  though  I  had  done  my  duty.  Had  I  been 
ever  so  little  more  experienced,  I  should  have  had  a  misgiving 
that  the  least  doubt  in  such  cases  must  be  taken  as  a  bad  sign. 
but  another  fact  threw  me  out  in  my  reckoning  :  I  don't  know 
what  J  was  pleased  about,  but  I  felt  awfully  pleased,  in  spite  of 
my  being  uncertain,  and  of  my  realizing  distinctly  that  I  had 
not  come  off  with  flying  colours  dovviistairs.  Even  Tatyana 
Pavlovna's  spiteful  abuse  of  me  struck  me  as  funny  and  amusing 
and  did  not  anger  me  at  all.  Probably  all  this  was  because  I  had 
anpvay  broken  my  chains  and  for  the  first  time  felt  myself  free. 
I  felt,  too,  that  I  had  weakened  my  position  :  how  I  was  to 
act  in  regard  to  the  letter  about  the  inheritance  was  more  obscure 
than  ever.  Now  it  would  be  certainly  taken  for  granted  that  I 
was  revenging  myself  on  Versilov.  But  while  all  this  discussion 
was  going  on  downstairs  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  s  ibmit  the 
question  of  the  letter  to  an  impartial  outsider  and  to  appeal  to 
Vassinfor  his  decision,  or,  failuig  Vassin,  to  take  it  to  some  one 
else.  Ihadalready  made  up  ray  mind  to  whom.  I  would  go  to  see 
Vassin  once,  for  that  occasion  оп1з%  I  thought  to  m3'self ,  and  thei* 
— then  I  would  vanish  for  a  long  while,  for  some  months,  from  the 

117 


sight  of  all,  especially  of  Vassin.  Only  my  mother  and  sister  I 
might  see  occasionally.  It  was  all  inconsistent  and  confused ; 
I  felt  that  I  had  done  something,  though  not  in  the  right  way, 
and  I  was  satislSed  :  I  repeat,  I  was  awfully  pleased  anyway, 

I  meant  to  go  to  bed  rather  early,  foreseeing  I  should  have  a  lot 
to  do' next  day.  Besides  finding  a  lodging  and  moving,  I  had 
another  project  which  in  one  way  or  another  I  meant  to  carry  out. 
But  the  evening  was  not  destined  to  end  without  surprises,  and 
Versilov  succeeded  in  astonishing  me  extremely.  He  had 
certainly  never  been  into  my  attic,  and  lo  and  behold,  before  I 
had  been  an  hour  in  my  room  I  heard  his  footsteps  on  the  ladder  : 
he  called  to  me  to  show  a  light.  I  took  a  candle,  and  stretching 
out  my  hand,  which  he  caught  hold  of,  I  helped  him  up. 

"  Merci,  my  dear  fellow ;  I've  never  climbed  up  here  before, 
not  even  when  I  took  the  lodgings,  I  imagined  what  sort  of  place 
it  \vas,  but  I  never  supposed  it  was  quite  such  a  hole  as  this." 
He  stood  in  the  middle  of  my  attic,  looking  around  with  curiosity. 
"  Why,  this  is  a  coffin,  a  regular  coffin." 

It  really  had  a  resemblance  to  the  inside  of  a  coffin,  and  I 
positively  admired  the  way  he  had  described  it  in  one  word. 
It  was  a  long  narrow  box  of  a  room,  the  ceiling  sloped  away  from 
the  Avail  at  the  height  of  my  shoulder,  and  the  top  of  it  was 
within  easy  reach  of  my  hand.  Versilov  unconsciously  stood 
stoopuig,  afraid  of  hitting  his  head  against  the  ceiling  ;  he  did  not 
knock  it,  however,  and,  finally  more  or  less  reassured,  he  seated 
himself  on  the  sofa,  where  my  bed  had  already  been  made  up. 
But  I  did  not  sit  do\ni,  I  looked  at  him  in  the  greatest  amazement. 

"  Your  mother  says  she  does  not  know  whether  to  take  the 
money  З'ои  gave  her  this  evening  for  your  board  for  the  month. 
But  for  a  coffin  like  this,  instead  of  taking  your  money,  we  ought 
rather  to  offer  you  compensation  !  I  have  never  been  up  and 
....  I  can't  conceive  how  you  can  exist  here  !  " 

"  I  am  used  to  it.  But  what  I  can't  get  used  to  is  seeing  you 
in  m}-  room  after  what  has  just  happened  downstairs." 

"  O,  yes,  you  were  distinctly  rude  downstairs,  but  ...  I,  too, 
have  a  special  object  which  I  will  explain  to  you,  though  indeed 
there  is  nothing  extraordinary  in  my  coming  ;  even  the  scene 
downstairs  is  in  the  regular  order  of  things  ;  but  for  mercy's  sake 
do  explain  this  :  what  you  told  us  downstairs  after  preparing 
us  and  approaching  the  subject  so  solemnly  was  surely  not  all  you 
meant  to  discloseorcommnnicate  ?  Was  there  really  nothing  else  ?" 

"  That  was  all,  or  we'll  assume  it  was  all." 

iiS 


"  It's  not  much,  my  dear  fellow  :  I  must  own  that  from  your 
beginning  and  the  way  you  urged  us  to  laugh,  in  fact  from  your 
eagerness  to  talk,  I  expected  more." 

"  But  that  does  not  matter  to  you,  surely  ?  " 

*'  But  I  speak  simply  from  a  sense  of  proportion ;  it  Avas  not 
worth  making  such  a  fuss  about,  it  was  quite  disproportionate ; 
you've  been  sitting  mute  a  whole  month,  preparing  to  speak, 
and  when  it  comes — it's  nothing." 

"  I  meant  to  say  more,  but  I  am  ashamed  of  having  said  even 
that.  Not  everjrthing  can  be  put  into  words,  there  are  things 
it's  better  never  to  say  at  all ;  I  said  a  good  deal,  but  you  did  not 
understand." 

"Why,  so  you,too,are  sometimes  distressed  at  the  impossibility 
of  putting  thought  into  words  !  That's  a  noble  sorrow,  my  dear 
fellow,  and  it's  only  vouchsafed  to  the  elect  :  the  fool  is  always 
satisfied  лvitb  what  he  has  said,  and  always,  too,  says  more  than 
he  need  ;   they  love  to  have  something  to  spare." 

"  As  I  see  I  did,  for  instance  ;  I  said  more  than  I  need  :  I  asked 
for  the  '  whole  of  Versilov,'  that  was  a  great  deal  too  much  ; 
I  don't  need  Versilov  at  all." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  see  you  want  to  retrieve  3'our  failure  down- 
stairs. It  is  very  evident  you  repent  it,  and  as  repentance  among 
us  always  involves  immediately  attacking  some  one,  з'ои  are  very 
anxious  to  hit  hard  this  time.  I  have  come  too  soon,  and  you 
have  not  yet  cooled  down,  and  besides  you  are  not  very  good  at 
standing  criticism.  But  sit  down,  for  mercy's  sake ;  I  have  come 
to  tell  you  something  ;  thank  you,  that's  right.  From  what  you 
said  to  уош-  mother,  as  you  went  out,  it's  quite  clear  that  it  is 
better  for  us  to  separate.  I  have  come  to  persuade  you  to  do 
so  as  gently  end  with  as  little  fuss  as  possible,  to  avoid  grieving 
and  alarming  your  mother  any  further.  My  coming  up  here 
even  has  cheered  her.  She  believes  in  a  way  that  we  may  still 
be  reconciled  and  that  e «^erything  will  go  on  as  before.  I  imagine 
that  if  we  were  to  laugh  heartily  once  or  twice  we  should  fill 
their  timid  hearts  with  delight.  They  may  be  simple  souls,  but 
they  are  sincere  and  true-hearted  in  their  love.  \^"hy  not  humour 
them  on  occasion  ?  Well,  that's  one  thing.  Another  thing  : 
why  should  we  necessarily  part  thirsting  for  revenge,  gna&hing 
o\ir  teeth,  vowing  vengeance,  etc.  Of  course  there  is  no  manner 
of  need  to  fall  on  each  other's  necks,  but  we  might  part,  so  to  say, 
with  mutual  respect,  mightn't  we  ?  " 

"  That's  all  nonsense  !     1  promise  to  go  away  without  a  fuss — 

119 


and  that's  enough.  And  is  it  for  my  mother's  sake  you  are 
anxious  ?  But  it  strikes  me  that  ray  mother's  peace  of  mind  has 
absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  you  are  simply  saying  that." 

"  You  don't  believe  it  ?  " 

"  You  talk  to  me  just  as  though  I  were  a  baby." 

"  I  am  ready  to  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand  times  over  for 
that,  in  fact  for  everything  you  bring  up  against  me,  for  those 
years  of  your  childhood  and  the  rest  of  it,  but,  cher  enfant,  what 
will  be  the  use  of  it  ?  You  are  too  clever  to  want  to  be  put  into 
such  a  stupid  position.  To  say  nothing  of  my  not  understanding, 
so  far,  the  exact  nature  of  your  accusations.  What  is  it  you 
blame  me  for  in  reality  ?  For  your  not  having  been  bom  a 
Vcrsilov  1  Bah !  You  laugh  contemptuously  and  wave  your 
hands,  so  that's  not  it  ?  " 

"  No,  I  assure  you.  I  assure  you  I  don't  think  it  an  honouj 
to  be  called  Versilov." 

"  Let's  leave  honour  out  of  the  question  ;  and,  besides,  your 
answer  was  bound  to  be  democratic  ;  but  if  so,  what  are  you 
blammg  rae  for  ?  " 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna  told  me  just  now  ail  I  needed  to  know, 
and  had  always  failed  to  grasp,  till  she  spoke.  That  is,  that  you 
did  not  apprentice  me  to  a  shoemaker,  and  that  consequently  I 
had  to  be  grateful,  too.  I  can't  understand  why  it  is  I  am  not 
grateful,  even  now,  even  after  I  have  been  taught  my  lesson. 
Isn't  it  the  pride  of  yoiu-  race  showing  itself  in  me,  Audrey 
Fetrovitoh  ?  " 

"  Probably  not,  and  apart  from  that,  you  must  admit  that  by 
your  sallies  do^rtTistairs  you've  only  bullied  and  tormented  your 
mother  instead  of  crushing  me,  as  you  intended.  Yet  I  should 
have  thought  it  was  not  for  you  to  judge  her.  Besides,  what 
wrong  has  she  done  you  ?  Explain  to  me,  too,  by  the  way, 
my  dear  fellow  :  for  what  reason  and  with  what  object  did  you 
spread  abroad  that  you  were  illegitimate,  at  your  boarding  school 
and  at  the  grammar  school,  and  everywhere  you  have  been, 
to  every  casual  stranger,  as  I  hear  you  have  ?  I  hear  that  you 
did  tills  with  a  peculiar  relish.  And  yet  that's  all  nonsense,  and 
a  revolting  calumny  :  you  are  legitimate,  a  Dolgoruky,  the  son  of 
Makar  Ivanovitch  Dolgoruky,  a  respectable  man,  remarkable  for 
his  intelligence  and  character.  That  you  have  received  a  superior 
education  is  entirely  owing  to  your  former  master,  Versilov,  and 
what's  the  upshot  of  it  ?  }^y  proclaiming  your  illegitimacy,  which 
Ls  a  calumny  in  itself,  you  first  and  foremost  gave  away  your 

120 


mother's  secret,  and  from  a  false  pride  exposed  your  mother  to 
the  criticism  of  every  dirty  stranger.  My  dear  fellow,  that  was 
very  discreditable,  especially  as  your  mother  is  in  no  way  to 
blame  :  she  has  a  nature  of  the  greatest  purity,  and  that  her  name 
is  not  Versilov  is  simply  because  her  husband  is  still  living." 

"  Enough,  I  entirely  agree  with  you,  and  I  have  enough  faith 
in  your  intelligence  to  hope  that  you  won't  go  on  rating  at  me  too 
long  for  it.  You  are  so  fond  of  moderation  ;  and  yet  there's 
a  moderation  in  all  things,  even  in  your  sudden  love  for  my 
mother.  I'll  tell  you  what  would  be  better  :  since  you  have  gone 
so  far  as  to  come  up  and  see  me  and  mean  to  spend  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  or  half  an  hour  with  me  (I  still  don't  know  what  for, 
we'll  assume  for  my  mother's  peace  of  mind),  and  what's  more,  in 
spite  of  the  scene  downstairs,  seem  so  eager  to  talk  to  me,  you  had 
better  tell  me  about  my  father — tell  me  about  Makar  Ivanovitch 
the  pilgrim.  I  want  to  hear  from  you  about  him  :  I  have  been 
intending  to  ask  you  for  some  time  past.  Now  that  we  are 
parting  perhaps  for  a  long  time,  I  should  very  much  Uke  to  get 
from  you  an  answer  to  another  question  :  has  it  really  been 
impossible  for  you  during  these  twenty  years  to  affect  my  mother's 
traditional  ideas — and  now  my  sister's,  too — so  as  to  dissipate 
by  your  civilizing  influence  the  primitive  darkness  of  her  en- 
vironment ?  Oh,  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  purity  of  her  nature. 
She's  infinitely  nobler  than  j'ou,  morally  any^vay,  excuse  my 
saying  so  .  .  .  but  she's  only  an  infinitely  noble  corpse.  Versilov 
is  the  only  one  living,  everything  else  about  him  and  everything 
connected  with  him  exists  only  on  the  express  condition  of  having 
the  honour  to  nourish  him  with  its  force,  its  living  sap.  But  I 
suppose  she,  too,  was  once  alive,  wasn't  she  ?  I  suppose  you 
loved  something  in  her,  didn't  you  ?  I  suppose  she  was  once  a 
woman  ?  " 

'■  My  dear  fellow,  she  never  was,  if  you  will  have  it,"  he  assured 
me,  at  once  dropping  into  his  habitual  manner  with  me,  with 
which  I  was  so  familiar,  and  by  which  I  was  so  enraged,  that  is 
he  was  apparently  all  sincerity  and  open-heartedness,  but  if  one 
looked  more  closely  there  was  nothing  in  him  but  the  deepest 
irony :   "  she  never  was.  The  Russian  woman  never  is  a  woman." 

"  Is  the  Polish  woman,  the  French  woman  ?  Or  the  Italian, 
the  passionate  Italian,  that's  the  sort  to  fascinate  the  civilized 
upper-class  Russian  of  the  type  of  Versilov  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  certainly  did  not  expect  to  meet  a  Slavophil,"  laughed 
Versilov. 

121 


I  remember  his  story,  word  for  word  :  he  began  talking  with 
great  readiness  indeed,  and  with  evident  pleasure.  It  was  quite 
clear  to  me,  that  he  had  come  up  not  to  have  a  gossip  with  me, 
and  not  to  pacify  my  mother  either,  but  with  some  other  object. 


"  Your  mother  and  I  have  spent  these  twenty  years  together 
in  silence,"  he  began,  prattling  on  (it  was  utterly  affected  and 
unnatural),  "  and  all  that  passed  between  us  took  place  in  silence. 
The  chief  characteristic  of  our  twenty  years'  connection  has  been 
its — dumbness.  I  believe  we  have  never  once  quarrelled.  It 
is  true  I  have  often  gone  away  and  left  her  alone,  but  it  has  always 
ended  in  my  coming  back.  Noiis  revenons  toujours  ;  indeed,  it's 
a  fimdamental  characteristic  of  men  ;  it's  due  to  their  magna- 
nimity. If  marriage  depended  on  women  alone,  not  a  single 
marriage  would  last.  Meekness,  submissiveness,  self-abasement, 
and  at  the  same  time  firmness,  strength,  real  strength,  that's  your 
mother's  character.  Take  note,  that  she's  the  best  of  all  the 
women  I've  met  in  my  life.  And  that  she  has  strength  I  can  bear 
witness  :  I  have  seen  how  that  strength  has  supported  her. 
When  it's  a  matter,  I  won't  say  of  convictions — convictions  are 
out  of  the  question — but  what  they  look  upon  as  convictions, 
and  so,  to  their  thinking,  sacred,  she  is  ready  to  face  torture. 
Well,  I  leave  you  to  judge,  whether  I  am  much  like  a  torturer. 
That's  why  I  have  preferred  to  remain  silent  about  almost  every- 
thing, and  not  simply  because  it  Avas  more  convenient,  and 
I  confess  I  don't  regret  it.  In  this  way  our  life  has  gone  on  of 
itself  on  bioad  and  humane  lines,  so  that  indeed  I  take  no  credit 
to  myself  for  it.  I  must  say  by  the  way  in  parenthesis,  that  for 
some  reason  she  never  beheved  in  my  humanity,  and  so  was 
always  in  a  tremor ;  but,  though  she  has  trembled,  she  has  never 
given  in  to  any  advanced  ideas.  They  are  so  good  at  that,  while 
we  never  understand  that  sort  of  thing,  and  in  fact  they  are  much 
better  at  managing  things  for  themselves  than  we  are.  They  are 
able  to  go  on  living  their  ovm.  lives  in  positions  most  unnatural 
to  them,  and  in  positions  most  strange  to  them  they  remain 
always  the  same.     But  we  can't  do  that." 

"  Who  are  '  they  '  ?     I  don't  quite  understand  you." 
"  The  people,  my  dear  fellow,  I'm  speaking  of  the  common 
people.     They  have  shown  their  great  living  force,  and  their 
historical  breadth  both  morally  and  politically.     But,  to  come 

122 


back  to  oui selves,  I  may  remark  about  your  mother,  that  she  is 
not  always  dumb  ;  your  mother  sometimes  speaks,  but  she  speaks 
in  such  a  way  that  you  see  at  once  that  you  simply  waste  time 
in  talking  to  her,  even  though  you  might  have  been  preparing 
her  for  five  years  beforehand.  Moreover,  she  makes  the  most 
unexpected  objections.  Note  again,  that  I  am  far  from  calling 
her  a  fool ;  on  the  contrary,  she  has  intelligence  of  a  sort,  and 
even  remarkable  intelligence  ;  though  perhaps  you  wiU  not  be- 
lieve in  her  intelligence  ..." 

"  Why  not  ?  What  I  don't  believe  is  that  you  really  believe 
in  her  intelligence  yourself,  and  are  not  pretending." 

"  Yes  ]  You  look  upon  me  as  such  a  chameleon  ?  My  dear 
fellow,  I  am  allowing  you  a  little  too  much  licence  .  .  .  like  a 
spoilt  son  .  .  .  So  be  it  for  the  time." 

"  TeU  me  if  you  can  the  truth  about  my  father." 
"  About  Makar  Ivanovitch  ?     Makar  Ivanovitch  was,  as  you 
are  aware,  a  house-serf,  who,  so  to  speak,  had  a  yearning  for 
glory  of  a  sort  ..." 

"  I  bet  that  at  this  minute  you  feel  envious  of  him  !  " 
"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear  fellow,  on  the  contrary,  and  if  you 
like  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  in  such  a  flippant  mood  ;  I  swear 
that  I  am  in  a  penitent  frame  of  mind,  and  just  now,  at  this 
moment,  I  regret  a  thousand  times  over  all  that  happened  twenty 
years  ago.  And  besides,  God  knows,  it  all  happened  quite 
accidentally  .  .  .  well,  and,  so  far  as  in  me  lay,  humanely  too ; 
— as  I  conceived  of  an  act  of  humanity  in  those  days  anyway. 
Oh,  in  those  days  we  were  all  boiling  over  with  zeal  for  doing  good, 
for  serving  the  public  weal,  for  a  higher  ideal ;  we  disapproved  of 
class  distinctions,  of  the  privileges  of  our  rank,  of  our  property 
and  even  of  usury,  at  least  some  of  us  did.  ...  I  declare  we 
did.  There  were  not  many  of  us,  but  we  said  good  things,  and 
sometimes,  I  assure  you,  did  good  things,  too." 
"  That  was  Avhen  you  sobbed  on  his  shoulder." 
"  I  am  ready  to  agree  with  you  on  every  point  beforehand. 
By  the  way,  you  heard  of  that  shoulder  from  me,  and  so,  at  this 
moment,  you  are  making  spiteful  use  of  my  frankness  and  confi- 
dence in  you  ;  but  you  must  admit  that  there  was  not  so  much 
harm  in  that  episode  as  might  seem  at  the  first  glance,  especially 
for  that  period.  To  be  sure  we  were  only  making  a  beginning 
then.  Of  course  it  was  a  pose,  but  I  did  not  know  at  the  time 
that  it  was  a  pose.  Have  you,  for  instance,  never  posed  in 
practical  affairs  ?  " 

123 


"  I  was  rather  sentimental  downstairs,  just  now,  and  as  I  came 
up  here  I  felt  horribly  ashamed  at  the  thought  that  you  might 
imagine  I  had  been  posing.  It  is  true  in  some  cases,  though  one's 
feelings  are  sincere,  one  makes  a  display  of  one's  feelings.  I  swear 
that  everything  I  said  downstairs  was  absolutely  genuine." 

"  That's  exactly  it ;  you  have  very  successfully  defined  it  in  a 
phrase,  '  though  one's  feelings  are  sincere  one  makes  a  display 
of  one's  self '  ;  but  do  you  know  it  was  just  the  same  with  me. 
Though  I  was  making  a  display  of  them,  my  sobs  were  perfectly 
genuine.  I  don't  deny  that  Makar  Ivanovitch  might,  if  he  had  been 
wittily  disposed,  have  looked  upon  my  sobs  as  the  climax  of 
mockery,  but  in  those  days  he  was  too  honest  to  be  so  clear- 
sighted. I  don't  know  whether  he  felt  sorry  for  me  or  not.  I 
remember  that  I  had  a  great  desire  that  he  should." 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  interrupted  him,"  you're  jeering  now 
when  you  say  that  ?  And  in  fact,  all  this  last  month  whenever 
you  have  talked  to  me,  you  have  been  jeering.  Why  have  you 
done  so,  whenever  you  have  talked  with  me  ?  " 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  he  answered  mildly  ;  "  you  are  very  sus- 
picious ;  however,  if  I  do  laugh  it's  not  at  you,  or,  at  least  not  only 
at  you,  don't  be  uneasy.  But  I  am  not  laughing  now,  and  then — 
in  short  I  did  everything  I  could  then,  and,  believe  me,  not  for 
my  personal  advantage.  We,  that  is,  superior  people,  unlike  the 
common  people,  do  not  know  how  to  act  for  our  personal  ad- 
vantage :  on  the  contrary,  we  made  a  mess  of  it  as  far  as  we 
possibly  could,  and  I  suspect  that  that  was  considered  among 
us  in  those  days  '  our  higher  advantage,'  in  an  exalted  sense  of 
course.  The  present  generation  of  advanced  people  are  much 
keener  on  the  main  chance  than  we  were.  Even  before  our 
'  sin  '  I  explained  the  whole  position  to  Makar  Ivanovitch  with  ex- 
traordinary  directness.  I  am  ready  to  admit  now,  that  a  great 
deal  need  not  have  been  explained  at  all,  especially  with  such 
directness ;  to  say  nothing  of  humanity  it  would  have  been  far 
more  polite,  but  .  .  .  but  there's  no  pulling  up  when  you  once 
begin  dancing,  and  want  to  cut  a  fine  caper.  And  perhaps  our 
cravings  for  the  fine  and  exalted  only  amount  to  that  in  reality. 
All  my  life  I  have  never  been  able  to  make  up  my  mind  about  it. 
However,  that  is  too  deep  a  subject  for  our  superficial  conversa- 
tion, but  I  assure  you  I  am  sometimes  ready  to  die  with  shame, 
when  I  recall  it.  I  offered  him  at  the  time  three  thousand 
roubles,  and  I  remember  he  did  not  say  a  word  and  I  did  all  the 
talking.     Only  fancy,  I  imagined  that  he  was  afraid  of  me,  that 

124 


is  of  my  rights  of  ownership  over  him,  and  I  remember  I  did  my 
utmost  to  reassure  him  ;  I  kept  trying  to  persuade  him  to  have 
no  apprehension,  but  to  tell  me  his  wishes  frankly  and  without 
sparing  me.  By  way  of  guarantee  I  promised  him,  that  if  he  did 
not  accept  my  terms,  that  is  three  thousand  with  freedom  (for 
himself  and  his  wife,  of  course) — and  a  journey  wherever  he 
pleased  (without  his  wife,  of  course) — then  let  him  say  so  straight 
out,  and  I  would  at  once  give  him  his  freedom,  let  his  wife  go, 
and  compensate  them  both  Tvith  the  same  three  thousand,  I  be- 
lieve, and  the  J'  should  not  go  away  from  me,  but  I  would  go  away 
myself  in  solitude  for  three  years  to  Italy.  Mon  ami,  I  should 
not  have  taken  Mile.  Sapozhkov  with  me  to  Italy,  you  may  be  sure 
of  that.  I  was  extremely  pure  at  that  epoch.  And,  do  you  know, 
Makar  Ivanovitch  knew  perfectly  well  that  I  should  do  as  I 
promised  ;  but  he  still  remained  silent,  and  only  when  I  was  about 
to  throw  myself  on  his  neck,  for  the  third  time,  he  drew  back, 
waved  his  hand,  and  went  out  of  the  room  with  a  certain  lack 
of  ceremony, indeed,  which  I  assure  you  surprised  me  at  the  time. 
I  caught  a  gUmpse  of  myself  in  the  looking-glass  and  I  can't 
forget  it. 

"  As  a  rule  when  they  don't  speak  it's  worst  of  all,  and  he  was  a 
gloomy  character,  and  I  must  confess  that  far  from  feeling  sure 
of  him  I  was  awfully  afraid  of  him,  when  I  summoned  him  to  my 
study.  In  that  class  there  are  types,  and  many  of  them,  who 
are,  so  to  speak,  the  very  incarnation  of  all  that's  ill-bred,  and 
one's  more  afraid  of  that  than  a  beating.  Sic.  And  what  a  risk 
I  was  running,  what  a  risk  !  Why,  what  if  he  had  begun  shouting 
for  all  the  servants  to  hear,  had  howled,  this  village  Uriah,  what 
would  have  become  of  me,  such  a  juvenile  David,  and  what 
should  I  have  done  then  ?  That's  why  I  trotted  out  the  three 
thousand  first  of  all,  that  was  instinctive  ;  but  luckily  I  was  mis- 
taken :  this  Makar  Ivanovitch  was  something  quite  different." 

"  Tell  me,  had  you  '  sinned  '  then  ?  You  said  just  now  that 
you  summoned  the  husband  beforehand." 

"  Well,  do  you  see  .  .  .  that  is  ...  as  one  understands 
it  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  you  had  then.  You  said  just  now  you  were  mistaken  in 
him,  that  he  was  something  different ;  how  different  ?  " 

"  Well,  how  exactly  I  don't  know  to  this  day,  but  somehow 
different,  and,  do  you  know,  positively  very  decent.  I  think  so 
because  in  the  end  I  felt  more  than  ever  ashamed  to  face  him.  Next 
day  he  agreed  to  the  journey,  without  any  words,  but  without, 

125 


o£  course,  forgetting  one  of  the  inducements  I  had  offered 
him." 

"  He  took  the  money  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so  !  And  you  know,  my  dear  fellow,  in  that 
point  he  surprised  me  too.  I  had  not,  of  course,  three  thousand 
at  the  time  in  my  pocket,  but  I  procured  seven  hundred  and 
handed  it  over  to  him  as  the  first  instalment ;  and  what  do  you 
think  ?  He  demanded  the  remaining  two  thousand  three 
hundred  from  nie  in  the  form  of  a  credit  note  made  payable 
to  a  certain  merchant  for  security.  And  two  years  later,  by 
means  of  that  credit  note,  he  got  the  money  out  of  me  before  a 
court,  and  with  interest  too,  so  that  he  surprised  me  again, 
especially  as  he  had  literally  gone  collecting  funds  for  building 
a  church,  and  has  been  a  pilgrim  ever  since,  that  is,  for  the  last 
twenty  years.  I  don't  understand  what  a  pilgrim  should  want 
money  of  his  own  for.  .  .  .  money  which  is  such  a  worldly 
thing.  ...  I  offered  the  money  at  the  minute  of  course  with 
perfect  sincerity,  and,  so  to  speak,  in  the  first  flush  of  feeling, 
but  afterwards,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  minutes,  I  might 
naturally  have  thought  better  of  it  .  .  .  and  might  have  reckoned 
that  he  would  spare  me  ...  or,  so  to  say,  spare  us,  me  and  her, 
and  would  have  waited  for  a  time  at  least.  But  he  lust  no  time 
however  ..." 

Here  I  must  make  a  necessary  note.  If  my  mother  were  to 
outlive  M.  Versilov,  she  would  have  been  left  literally  without  a 
farthing  in  her  old  age,  had  it  not  been  for  Makar  Ivanovitch's 
three  thousand,  which  had  been  doubled  long  ago  by  the  ac- 
cumulation of  interest,  and  which  he  had  the  previous  year 
left  her  intact  in  his  will.  He  had  seen  through  Versilov  even 
in  those  days. 

"  You  told  me  once  that  Makar  Ivanovitch  had  come  several 
times  on  a  visit  to  you,  and  always  stayed  at  mother's 
lodgings  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  boy  :  and  I  must  confess  at  first  I  was  awfully 
frightened  of  these  visits.  He  has  come  six  or  seven  times  alto- 
gether during  this  period,  that  is,  the  last  twenty  years,  and  on 
the  first  occasions  I  used  to  hide  myself  if  I  were  in  the  house 
when  he  arrived.  At  first  I  could  not  make  out  what  it  meant, 
and  why  he  had  turned  up.  But  afterwards  I  thought  that  from 
certain  points  of  view  it  was  by  no  means  so  stupid  on  his  part. 
Afterwards  it  somehow  occiu-red  to  me  to  feel  curious  about  him  ; 
I  came  out  to  have  a  look  at  him,  and  formed,  I  assure  you,  a  very 

126 


original  impression  of  him.  This  was  on  his  third  or  fourth  visit, 
at  the  time  when  I  had  just  been  appointed  a  mediator,  and  when, 
of  course,  I  was  getting  all  my  energies  to  work  to  study  Russia. 
I  heard  from  him  a  very  great  deal  that  was  new  to  me.  I  found 
in  him,  besides,  what  I  had  never  expected  to  find  :  a  sort  of 
benign  serenity,  an  evenness  of  temper,  and  what  was  more 
surprising  than  anything,  something  almost  like  gaiety.  Not  the 
faintest  allusion  to  that  (tu  comprends)  and  a  very  great  capacity 
for  talking  sense,  and  talking  extremely  well,  that  is,  with  none  of 
that  silly  servantish  profundity,  which  I  confess  to  you  I  can't 
endure,  democratic  as  I  am,  and  with  none  of  those  far-fetched 
Russian  expressions  which  '  the  genuine  Russian  peasant ' 
makes  use  of  in  novels  and  on  the  stage.  At  the  same  time  very 
little  about  religion,  unless  one  begins  upon  the  subject,  and  most 
charming  descriptions  of  the  monastery  and  monastic  life,  if  one 
asks  questions  about  it.  And  above  all — respectfuhiess,  that 
modest  courtesy,  just  that  courtesy  which  is  essential  for  the 
truest  equality,  and  without  which,  indeed,  in  my  opinion, 
one  cannot  be  really  superior.  The  truest  good-breeding  is  in 
such  cases  attained  through  the  complete  absence  of  conceit,  and 
the  man  shows  himself  secure  in  his  self-respect  in  his  own  station 
of  life  whatever  that  may  be,  and  whatever  fate  may  befall  him. 
This  power  of  respecting  one's  self  in  one's  own  position  is  ex- 
tremely rare,  as  rare,  anyway,  as  real  personal  dignity.  .  .  . 
You  will  see  that  for  yourself  if  you  live  long  enough.  But  what 
struck  me  most  of  all,  especially  later  on,  and  not  at  the  begin- 
ning," added  Versilov,  "  was  the  fact  that  this  Makar  had  an 
extraordinary  stateliness,  and  was,  I  assure  you,  very  handsome. 
It  is  true  he  луаз  old,  but — 

Dark  visaged,  tall,  erect, 

simple  and  dignified  ;  I  actually  wondered  how  my  poor  Sonia 
could  have  preferred  me  then  ;  at  that  time  he  was  fifty,  but  he 
was  still  a  fine  fellow,  and  compared  with  bim  I  was  such  a 
featherhead.  I  remember,  however,  that  he  was  unpardonably 
grey  even  then  ;  so  he  must  have  been  just  as  grey-headed  when 
he  married  her.  ,  .  .  Perhaps  that  had  an  influence." 

Versilov  had  a  very  nasty  aristocratic  trick  :  after  saying 
(when  he  could  not  help  it)  some  particularly  clever  and  fine  things, 
he  would  all  at  once  intentionally  cap  them  with  some  stupid 
saying  such  as  this  remark  about  Makar  Ivanovitch's  grey  hair, 
and  the  influence  it  had  on  my  mother.     He  did  this  on  purpose 

127 


probably  without  knowing  why  he  did  it,  from  a  silly  snobbish 
habit.  To  hear  him,  one  would  suppose  he  was  speaking  quite 
seriously,  and  all  the  while  he  was  posing  to  himself,  or  laughing. 


I  don't  know  why  but  I  was  suddenly  overcome  by  an  intense 
exasperation,  In  fact,  1  recall  with  extreme  dissatisfaction  some 
of  mj'  behaviour  during  those  minutes  ;  I  suddenly  got  up  from 
my  seat. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  I  said  :  "  you  gay  you  came  up  chiefly  that 
my  mother  might  imagine  we  were  reconciled.  Time  enough 
has  passed  for  her  to  imagine  it ;  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  leave 
me  alone  ? " 

He  flushed  slightly  and  got  up  from  his  place. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  are  extremely  unceremonious  with  me. 
However,  good-bye  ;  there  is  no  winning  love  by  force.  I  will 
only  venture  upon  one  question  :  do  you  really  want  to  leave 
the  prince  ?  " 

"  Aha  !     I  knew  you  had  some  object  in  your  mind " 

"  That  is,  you  suspect  I  came  up  to  induce  you  to  stay  with  the 
prince,  for  some  purpose  of  my  own.  But  do  you  suppose,  my 
dear  fellow,  that  I  sent  for  you  from  Moscow  for  some  purpose 
of  my  own  ?  Oh  I  how  suspicious  you  are.  On  the  contrary, 
I  was  anxious  for  your  good  in  every  way.  And  even  now,  since 
my  position  has  so  improved,  I  should  have  liked  you  to  let  me 
and  your  mother  help  you  sometimes." 

"  I  don't  like  you,  Versilov." 

"  And  '  Versilov  '  too  !  By  the  way,  I  greatly  regret  that  I 
can't  transmit  you  the  name,  seeing  that  in  reality  constitutes 
my  whole  offence,  if  offence  there  is,  doesn't  it  ?  but  again  I 
couldn't  marry  a  married  woman,  could  I  ?  " 

"  That  was  why,  I  suppose,  you  wanted  to  m  .rry  an  unmarried 
one  ?  " 

A  slight  spasm  passed  over  his  face. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  Ems.  Listen,  Arkady,  you  went  so 
far  as  to  allude  to  that  downstairs,  pouring  contempt  upon  me 
before  your  mother.  You  must  know  that  that's  where  you  make 
your  greatest  mistake.  You  know  nothing  -whatever  of  what 
happened  with  Lidya  Ahmakov.  You  don't  know  how  much 
your  mother  had  to  do  with  it  all,  although  she  was  not  with 
me  at  the  time,  and  if  I  have  ever  seen  a  good  woman  it  was  when 

128 


I  looked  at  3'our  mother  then.  But  that's  enough  ;  all  that  is 
a  secret  still,  and  you — you  talk  of  what  you  don't  know,  and 
have  heard  about  from  outsiders." 

"  Only  to-day  the  prince  told  me  that  \'ou  have  a  special  fancy 
for  unfledged  girls." 

"The  prince  said  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  listen,  would  j'ou  like  me  to  tell  you  exactly  what  you 
have  come  up  to  me  for  ?  I  have  been  sitting  here  all  this  time 
wondering  what  was  the  secret  object  of  this  visit,  and  now 
I  believe  I've  guessed  it." 

He  was  just  going  out,  but  he  stopped  and  turned  to  me  in 
expectation. 

'■  I  blurted  out  just  now  that  Touchard's  letter  to  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  was  among  Andronikov's  papers,  and  at  his  death 
came  into  the  hands  of  Marie  Ivanovna.  I  saw  how  your  face 
suddenly  twitched,  and  I  only  guessed  why  just  полу,  when  your 
face  twitched  again  in  the  same  way.  The  idea  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  you  that  if  one  letter  in  Andronikov's  keeping  had 
come  into  Marie  Ivanovna's  hands,  why  shouldn't  another  ?  And 
Andronikov  might  have  left  very  important  letters,  mightn't 
he  ?  " 

"  So  I  came  up  here  hoping  to  make  you  talk  about  it  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  yourself." 

He  turned  very  pa  If  . 

"  You  did  not  imagine  that  of  yourself  ;  there's  a  Avoman's 
influence  in  it  ;  ar.d  wh  it  hatred  there  is  in  j'our  words — in  your 
coarse  supposition  !  " 

"  A  woman  ?  I  have  seen  that  woman  for  the  first  time  to- 
day !  Perhaps  it's  just  to  spy  on  her  you  want  me  to  stay  on 
with  the  old  prince." 

"  I  see,  though,  that  you  will  do  well  i:i  your  new  line.  Itn't 
that  perhaps  '  your  idea  '  ?  Go  on,  m}'  dear  fellow,  you  have 
an  unmistakable  gift  for  detective  work.  Given  talent,  one 
must  perfect  it." 

He  paused  to  take  breath. 

"  Take  care,  Versilov,  don't  make  me  your  enemy  !  " 

"  My  dear  felloAv,  in  such  cases  no  one  gives  utterance  to  his 
last  thoughts,  but  keeps  them  to  him.self.  And  with  that,  show 
me  a  light,  if  you  please  ;  though  you  are  тл^  enemy  you  are  not 
so  much  so  as  to  want  me  to  break  my  neck,  I  suppose.  Tiens, 
топ  ami,  only  fancy,"  he  went  on.  as  he  descended  the  ladder, 
"all  this  month  I  have  been  taking  you  for  a  good-naturtd 

129 


fellow.  You  so  want  to  live  and  are  so  thirsting  for  life  that  I  do 
believe  three  lives  would  not  be  enough  for  you  :  one  can  see  that 
in  your  face,  and  people  like  that'  are  generally  good-natured. 
And  how  mistaken  I've  been ! " 


I  can't  express  how  my  heart  ached  when  I  was  left  alone ; 
it  was  as  though  I  had  cut  off  a  piece  of  my  own  living  flesh  ! 
Why  I  had  so  suddenly  lost  my  temper,  and  why  I  had  so  in- 
sulted him — so  persistently  and  intentionally — I  couldn't  say 
now  ;  nor  could  I  at  the  time,  of  course.  And  how  pale  he  had 
turned !  And  who  knows,  perhaps  that  paleness  was  the 
expression  of  the  truest  and  purest  feeling  and  the  deepest 
sorrow,  and  not  of  anger  or  of  offence.  I  always  fancied  that 
there  had  been  a  moment  when  he  really  loved  me.  Why,  why 
could  I  not  believe  that  now,  especially  when  so  much  had  been 
made  clear  ? 

I  had  flown  into  a  sudden  fury  and  actually  driven  him  away, 
partly  perhaps  by  my  sudden  guess  that  he  had  come  to  find  out 
whether  there  were  not  another  letter  left  by  Andronikov  in  Marie 
Ivanovna's  possession.  That  he  must  have  been  on  the  look- 
out for  those  letters,  and  that  he  was  on  the  look-out  for  them 
I  knew.  But  who  knows,  perhaps  at  that  minute  I  had  made  a 
horrible  blunder !  And  who  knows,  perhaps,  by  that  blunder 
I  had  led.  him  to  think  of  Marie  Ivanovna  and  the  possibility 
of  her  having  letters. 

And  finally,  there  was  something  else  that  was  strange  :  again 
he  had  repeated  word  for  word  my  own  thought  (about  three 
lives),  which  I  had  expressed  to  Kraft  that  evening,  and,  what 
is  more,  in  my  very  words.  The  coincidence  was  of  course 
a  chance  again,  but  how  he  knew  the  inmost  core  of  my  nature  ; 
what  insight,  what  penetration  !  But  if  he  so  well  understood 
one  thing,  why  was  it  he  utterly  failed  to  understand  something 
else  ?  Was  it  possible  he  was  not  pretending,  could  he  really 
be  incapable  of  divining  that  it  was  nqt  the  noble  rank  of  a 
Versilov  I  wanted,  that  it  was  not  my  birth  I  could  not  forgive 
him,  but  that  all  my  life  I  had  wanted  Versilov  himself,  the 
whole  man,  the  father,  and  that  this  idea  had  become  part  of 
myself.  Was  it  possible  that  so  subtle  a  man  could  be  so  crude 
and  so  stupid  ?  And  if  not,  why  did  he  drive  me  to  fury,  why 
did  he  pretend  1 

130 


CHAPTER  VIII 

1 

I  TRIED  to  get  up  as  early  as  possible  in  the  morning.  As  a  rule 
we,  that  is  my  mother,  my  sister  and  I,  used  to  get  up  about  eight 
o'clock.  Versilov  used  to  lie  comfortably  in  bed  till  half-past 
nine.  Punctually  at  half-past  eight  my  mother  used  to  bring 
me  up  my  coffee.  But  this  time  I  sUppcd  out  of  the  house  at 
eight  o'clock  without  waiting  for  it.  I  had  the  day  before 
mapped  out  roughly  my  plan  of  action  for  the  whole  of  this 
day.  In  spite  of  my  passionate  resolve  to  carry  out  this  plan 
I  felt  that  there  was  a  very  great  deal  of  it  that  was  uncertain 
and  indefinite  in  its  most  essential  points.  That  was  why  I  lay 
all  night  in  a  sort  of  half -waking  state;  I  had  an  immense  number 
of  dreams,  as  though  I  were  light-headed,  and  I  hardly  fell  asleep 
properly  all  night.  In  spite  of  that  I  got  up  feeling  fresher  and 
more  confident  than  usual.  I  was  particularly  anxious  not  to 
meet  my  mother.  I  could  not  have  avoided  speaking  to  her  on 
a  certain  subject,  and  I  was  afraid  of  being  distracted  from  the 
objects  I  was  pursuing  by  some  new  and  unexpected  impression. 

It  was  a  cold  morning  and  a  damp,  milky  mist  hovered  over 
everytlung.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  always  like  the  early 
workaday  morning  in  Petersburg  in  spite  of  its  squalid  air  ; 
and  the  self-centred  people,  always  absorbed  in  thought, 
and  hurrying  on  their  affairs,  have  a  special  attraction  for 
rae  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  As  I  hasten  on  my  road 
I  particularlj'  like  either  asking  some  one  a  practical  question, 
or  being  asked  one  by  some  passer-by  :  both  question  and 
answer  arc  always  brief,  clear,  and  to  the  point ;  they  are  spoken 
without  stopping  and  almost  always  in  a  friendly  manner,  and 
there  is  a  greater  readiness  to  answer  than  at  any  other  hour. 
In  the  middle  of  the  day,  or  in  the  evening,  the  Petcrsburger 
is  far  more  apt  to  be  abusive  or  jeering.  It  is  quite  different 
early  in  the  morning,  before  л\'огк  has  begun,  at  the  soberest  and 
most  serious  hour  of  the  day.     I  have  noticed  that. 

I  set  off  again  for  the  Petersburg  Side.  As  I  had  to  be  back 
in  Fontanka  by  twelve  o'clock  to  see  Vassin  (who  was  alwajs 
more  likely  to  be  at  ho"^e  at  midday),  I  hurried  on  without 
stopping,  though  I  had  a  great  longing  to  have  a  cup  of  coffee. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  find  Efim  Zvyerev  at  home  too  ; 

^3^ 


I  went,  to  him  and  nlmost  missed  him  ;  he  had  finished  his  coffee 
and  was  just  ready  to  go  out. 

"  What  brings  you  here  so  often  ?  "  was  how  he  greeted  me 
without  getting  up  from  his  seat. 

"  I  Avili  explain  that  directly." 

The  early  morning  everywhere,  including  Petersburg,  has  a 
sobering  effect  on  a  man's  nature.  Some  of  the  passionate 
dreams  of  night  evaporate  completely  with  the  light  and  chill 
of  morning,  and  it  has  happened  to  me  myself  sometimes  to 
recall  in  the  mcrnirg  my  ch-eams  and  even  my  actions  of 
the  ргс\-1оиз  night,  with  shame  and  self-reproach.  But  I  will 
remark,  however,  in  passing,  I  consider  a  Petersburg  morning — 
which  might  be  thought  the  most  prosaic  on  the  terrestrial 
globe — almost  the  most  fantastic  in  the  луогк!.  That  is  my 
personal  view,  or  rather  impression,  but  I  am  prepared  to  defend 
it.  On  such  a  Petersburg  morning,  foul,  damp  and  foggy,  the 
wild  dream  of  some  Herman  out  of  Pushkin's  "  Queen  of  Spades  " 
(a  colossal  figure,  an  extraordinary  and  regular  Petersburg  type 
— the  type  of  the  Petersburg  period  !)  would,  I  believe,  be 
more  like  solid  reality.  A  hundred  times  over,  in  such  a  fog,  I 
have  been  haunted  by  a  strange  but  persistent  fancy  :  "  \^'Llat 
if  this  fog  should  part  and  float  away,  would  not  all  this  rotten 
and  slimy  tovTi  go  with  it,  rise  up  with  the  fog,  and  vanish  like 
smoke,  and  the  old  Finnish  marsh  be  left  as  before,  and  in  the 
midst  of  it,  perhaps,  to  complete  the  picture,  a  bronze  horseman 
on  a  panting,  overdriven  steed."  In  fact  I  cannot  find  words 
for  my  sensations,  for  all  this  is  fantastic  after  all — poetic,  and 
therefore  nonsensical  ;  nevertheless  I  have  often  been  and  often 
am  haimted  by  an  utterly  senseless  question  :  "  Here  they  are 
all  flitting  to  and  fro,  but  how  can  one  tell,  perhaps  all  this  is 
some  one's  dream,  and  there  is  not  one  real  person  here,  nor 
one  real  action.  Some  one  \vho  is  dreaming  all  this  will  suddenly 
wake  up — and  everything  will  suddenly  disappear."  But  I 
am  digressing. 

I  must  say  by  way  of  preface  that  there  are  projects  and 
dreams  in  every  one's  expci'ience  so  eccentric  that  they  might 
well  be  taken  at  first  sight  for  madness.  It  was  with  such  a 
phantasy  in  my  mind  that  I  arrived  that  morning  at  Efim's, — 
I  went  to  Efim  because  I  had  no  one  else  in  Petersburg  to  whom 
I  could  apply  on  this  occasion.  Yet  Efim  was  the  last  person 
to  whom  1  should  have  gone  with  such  a  proposition  if  I  had 
had  anj'  choice.     When  I  was  sitting  opposite  him,  I  was  actually 

132 


struck  myself  with  the  thought  that  I  was  the  incarnation  of 
fever  an(f  delirium,  sitting  opposite  the  incarnation  of  prose  and 
the  golden  mean.  Yet  on  my  side  there  Avas  an  idea  and  true 
feeling,  wliile  on  liis  there  was  nothing  but  the  practical  con- 
viction, that  thing'^  \\  ere  not  done  like  that.  In  short  I  explained 
to  him  briefly  and  clearly  that  I  had  absolutely  no  cne  else  in 
Petersburg  whom  I  could  send  by  way  of  a  second  in  a  matter 
vitally  affecting  my  honour  ;  that  he,  tfim,  was  an  old  comrade, 
and  therefore  had  no  right  to  refuse,  and  that  I  Avanted  to 
challenge  a  lieutenant  in  the  Guards,  Prince  Sokolsky,  because 
more  than  a  year  ago  he  had  given  my  father  a  slap  in  the  face 
at  Ems.  I  may  mention  by  the  way  that  Efim  knew  all  the 
details  of  my  family  circumstances,  my  relations  with  Versilov, 
and  almost  all  that  I  кпелу  myself  of  Versilov's  career  ;  I  had 
on  various  occasions  talked  to  him  of  my  private  affairs,  except, 
of  course,  of  certain  secrets.  He  sat  and  listened  as  his  habit 
was,  all  ruffling  up  his  feathers  like  a  sparrow  in  a  cage,  silent 
and  serious,  with  his  puffy  face  and  his  untidy,  flaxen-white  hair. 
A  set  smile  of  mockery  never  left  his  lips.  This  smile  w^as  all  the 
nastier  for  being  quite  unintentional  and  unccr/cious  ;  it  was 
evident  that  he  genuinely  and  sincerely  considered  himself  at 
that  moment  vastly  superior  to  me  in  intellect  and  character. 
I  suspected,  too,  that  he  despised  me  for  the  scene  the  evening 
before  at  Dergatchcv's  ;  that  was  bound  to  be  so.  Efim  was  the 
crowd,  Efim  луаз  the  man  in  the  street,  and  the  man  in  the  street 
has  no  reverence  for  anything  but  suec^^^;. 

"  And  Versilov  knows  nothing  of  this  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Of  course  not." 

"  Then  what  right  have  you  to  meddle  in  his  affairs  ?  That's 
the  first  question.  j\nd  the  second  one  is,  what  do  you  want  to 
show  by  it  ?  " 

I  was  prepared  for  the  objection,  and  at  once  explained  to  him 
that  it  was  not  so  stupid  as  he  supposed.  To  begin  with,  the 
insolent  prince  would  be  shown  that  there  are  people,  even  in 
our  cleiss,  who  know  what  is  meant  by  honour ;  and  secondly, 
Versilov  would  be  put  to  shame  and  learn  a  lesson.  And  in  the 
third  place,  what  mattered  most  of  all,  even  if  Versilov  had  been 
right  in  refusing  to  challenge  him  in  accordance  with  liis  con- 
victions at  the  time,  he  would  see  that  there  was  some  one  who 
was  capable  of  feeling  the  insult  to  him  so  keenly  that  he  accepted 
it  as  an  insult  to  himself,  and  was  prepared  to  lay  di)^л^l  his  life  ior 
hiSjVersriov's,  mterests  . . .  although  he  was  leaving  Lim  forever 

133 


"  Wait  a  minute,  don't  shout,  my  aunt  does  not  like  it.  Tell 
rae,  is  it  this  same  Prince  Sokolsky  that  Versilov  is  at  law  with 
about  a  will  ?  If  so,  this  wiU  be  quite  a  new  and  original  way  of 
winning  a  lawsuit — to  kill  your  opponent  in  a  duel." 

I  explained  to  him  en  toiites  leitres,  that  he  was  simply  silly 
and  impertinent,  and  that  if  his  sarcastic  grin  was  growing 
broader  and  broader,  it  only  showed  his  conceit  and  common- 
placeness,  and  that  he  was  incapable  of  imagining  that  I  had  had 
the  lawsuit  in  my  mind  from  the  very  beginning,  and  that  re- 
flection on  that  subject  was  not  confined  to  his  sagacity.  Then 
I  informed  him  that  the  case  was  already  decided,  and,  moreover, 
it  had  not  been  brought  by  Prince  Sokolsky  but  b}'  the  Princes 
Sokolsky,  so  that  if  a  Prince  Sokolsky  were  killed  the  others 
would  be  left,  but  that  no  doubt  it  would  be  necessary  to  put  off 
the  challenge  till  the  end  of  the  time  within  which  an  appeal 
was  possible,  not  that  the  Solkoskys  would  as  a  fact  appeal, 
but  simply  as  a  matter  of  good  form.  When  the  latest  possible 
date  for  an  appeal  had  passed,  the  challenge  would  follow ; 
that  I  had  come  about  it  now.  not  that  the  duel  would  take  place 
immediately,  but  that  I  must  be  prepared  at  any  rate  in  time 
to  find  a  second,  if  he,  Efim,  refused,  as  I  knew  no  one.  That 
was  why,  I  said,  I  had  come. 

"  Well,  come  and  talk  about  it  then,  or  else  you'll  be  leading 
us  a  wild-goose  chase." 

He  stood  up  and  took  his  cap. 

"  So  you'll  go  then  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  I  won't." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  reason  if  I  agreed  now  that  I  would  go  then, 
you  would  begin  hanging  about  here  every  evening  till  the  time 
for  the  appeal  was  over.  And  besides,  it's  simply  nonsense, 
and  that's  all  about  it.  And  am  I  going  to  mess  up  my  career 
for  you  ?  Why,  Prince  Sokolsky  will  ask  me  at  once  :  '  Who 
sent  you  ? '  — '  Dolgoruky  ' — '  And  what's  Dolgoruky  got  to 
do  with  Versilov  ? '  And  am  I  to  explain  your  pedigree  to  him, 
pray  ?     Why,  he'd  bvurst  out  laughing  !  " 

"  Then  you  give  him  a  punch  in  the  face  !  "' 

"  But  it's  all  gibberish." 

"  You're  afraid  !  You  so  tall  and  the  strongest  at  the 
grammar  school !  " 

"  I'm  afraid,  of  coiu-se,  I  am  afraid.  Besides,  the  prince  won't 
fight,  for  they  only  fight  their  equals." 

134 


"  I  am  a  gentleman,  too,  by  education.  I  have  rights,  I  am  his 
equal  ...  on  the  contrary,  he  is  not  my  equal." 

"  You  are  a  small  boy." 

"  How  a  smaU  boy  ?  " 

"  Just  a  small  boy  ;  we  are  both  boys  but  he  is  grown  up." 

"  You  fool !  But  I  might  have  been  married  a  year  ago  by 
the  law." 

"  Well,  get  married  then,  but  anyway  you  are  a !  you 

will  grow  up  one  day  !  " 

I  saw,  of  course,  that  he  thought  fit  to  jeer  at  me.  I  might  not 
indeed  have  told  all  this  foolish  episode,  and  it  would  have  been 
better  in  fact  for  it  to  have  perished  in  obscurity  ;  besides,  it's 
revolting  in  its  pettiness  and  gratuitousness,  though  it  had  rather 
-serious  consequences. 

But  to  punish  myself  still  further  I  will  describe  it  fully. 
Realizing  that  Efim  was  jeering  at  me,  I  permitted  myself  to 
push  him  on  the  shoulder  with  my  right  hand,  or  rather  my  right 
fet.  Then  he  took  me  by  the  shoulder,  turned  me  upside  down 
and — proved  to  me  conclusively  that  he  was  the  strongest  of  us 
at  the  grammar  school. 


The  reader  will  doubtless  imagine  that  I  was  in  a  terrible 
state  of  mind  when  I  came  out  from  Efim's  ;  he  will  be  mistaken, 
however.  I  quite  realized  that  what  had  happened  was  only 
8choolbo)dshness,  but  the  gravity  of  my  purpose  remained 
unchanged.  I  got  some  coffee  at  Vassilyevsky  Island,  purposely 
avoiding  the  restaurant  I  had  been  at  the  evening  before  on  the 
Petersburg  Side  ;  the  restaurant  and  its  nightingale  were  doubly 
hateful  to  me.  It  is  a  strange  characteristic  of  mine  that  I  am 
capable  of  hating  places  and  things  as  though  they  were  people. 
On  the  other  hand  I  have  happy  places  in  Petersbxirg,  that  is 
places  where  I  have  at  some  time  or  other  been  happy.  And  I 
am  careful  of  those  places,  and  рш-posely  avoid  x-isiting  them  as 
far  as  possible,  that  later  on  when  I  am  alone  and  unhappy  I 
may  go  back  to  them  to  brood  over  my  griefs  and  my  memories. 
Over  my  coffee  I  did  full  justice  to  Efim  and  his  common  sense. 
Yes,  he  was  more  practical  than  I  was,  but  I  doubt  whether  he 
was  in  closer  touch  with  reality.  A  realism  that  refuses  to  look 
beyond  the  end  of  its  nose  is  more  dangerous  than  the  maddest 
romanticism,  because  it  is  blind.  But  while  I  did  justice  to 
Efim   (who  probably  at  that  moment  imagined  that  I  was 

135 


wandering  about  the  streets  swearing) — I  did  not  give  up  one 
point  in  my  convictions,  and  I  have  not  to  this  day.  I  have 
seen  people  who  at  the  first  bucket  of  cold  water  have  abandoned 
their  course  of  action,  and  even  their  idea,  and  begun  laughing 
themselves  at  what  an  hour  before  they  looked  и^юп  as  sacred. 
Oh,  how  easily  that  is  done  !  Even  if  Efim  were  more  right  than 
I  in  the  main,  and  I  wore  foolish  beyond  all  foolishness  and  giving 
myself  airs,  yet  at  the  very  bottom  of  it  all  there  was  a  point 
of  view  upon  which  I  was  right  :  there  was  something  to  be  said 
on  my  side  also,  and  what  is  more,  too,  it  was  something  they 
could  never  understand. 

I  reached  Vassin's  in  Fontanka,  near  the  Semyor.ov^ky  bridge, 
at  twelve  o'clock  pimctually,  but  I  did  not  find  him  at  home. 
His  work  was  in  Vassilyevsky  Island,  and  he  was  only  at  home 
at  certain  fixed  hours,  almost  always  at  midday.  And  as  it  was 
a  holiday  I  made  sure  of  finding  him  ;  not  finding  him  I  decided 
to  wait,  although  it  v/as  my  first  visit. 

I  reasoned  that  the  matter  of  the  letter  was  a  question  of 
conscience,  and  in  choosing  Vassin  to  decide  it  I  was  showing 
him  the  deepest  respect,  which  no  doubt  must  be  flattering  to 
him.  Of  course,  I  was  really  worried  by  this  letter  and  was 
genuinely  persuaded  of  the  necessity  of  an  outside  opinion  ; 
but  I  suspect  that  I  could  have  got  out  of  my  difficulty  without 
any  outside  help.  And  what  is  more  I  was  aware  of  that  myself  ; 
I  had  only  to  give  the  letter  to  Versilov,  to  put  it  into  his  hands 
and  then  let  him  do  what  he  liked  with  it — that  would  have 
settled  it.  To  set  myself  up  as  judge,  as  arbitrator  in  a  matter 
of  this  sort  was  indeed  utterly  irregular.  By  confining  myself 
to  handing  over  the  letter,  especially  in  silence,  I  should  have 
scored  at  once,  putting  myself  into  a  position  of  superiority 
over  Versilov.  For  renouncing  all  the  advantages  of  the  in- 
heritance as  far  as  I  луаз  concerned  (for  some  part  of  it  would 
have  been  sure,  sooner  or  later,  to  have  fallen  to  me  as  Vcrsilov's 
son),  I  should  have  sectu-ed  for  ever  a  superior  moral  attitude  in 
regard  to  Versilov's  future  action.  Nobody,  on  the  other  hand, 
could  reproach  me  for  ruinmg  the  Sokolskj's,  since  the  document 
had  no  decisive  legal  value.  All  this  I  thought  over  and  made 
perfectly  clear  to  myself,  sitting  in  Vassin's  empty  room,  and 
it  even  occurred  to  me  suddenly  that  I  had  come  to  Vassin's, 
80  thirsting  for  his  advice  how  to  act,  simply  to  show  him  what  a 
generous  and  irreproachable  person  I  was,  and  so  to  avenge 
myself  for  my  humiliation  before  him  the  previous  evening. 

136 


As  I  recognized  all  this,  I  felt  great  vexation  ;  nevertheless 
I  did  not  go  away,  but  sat  on,  though  I  knew  for  certain  that 
my  vexation  would  only  grow  greater  every  five  minutes. 

First  of  all,  I  began  to  feel  an  intense  dislike  for  Vassin's 
room.  "  Show  me  your  room  and  I  will  tell  you  your  character," 
one  really  may  say  that.  Vassin  had  a  fui'nished  room  in  a  flat 
belonging  to  people  evidently  poor,  who  let  lodgings  for  tl^cir 
hving  and  had  other  lodgers  besides  Vassin.  I  was  familiar 
with  poky  apartments  of  this  sort,  scarcely  furnished,  yet  with 
pretensions  to  comfort :  there  is  invariably  a  soft  sofa  from  the 
second-hand  market,  which  is  dangerous  to  move  ;  a  washing- 
stand  and  an  iron  bed  shut  off  by  a  screen.  Vassin  was  evidently 
the  best  and  the  most  to  be  depended  on  of  the  lodgers.  Lodging- 
house  keepers  always  have  one  such  best  lodger,  and  particularly 
try  to  please  him.  They  sweep  and  tidy  his  roc m  more  carefully, 
and  hang  lithographs  over  his  sofa  ;  under  the  table  they  lay 
an  emaciated-looking  rug.  People  who  are  fond  of  stuffy  tidi- 
ness and,  still  more,  of  obsequious  deference  in  their  landladies 
are  to  be  suspected.  I  felt  convinced  that  Vassin  himself  was 
flattered  by  his  position  as  best  lodger.  I  don't  know  why,  but 
the  sight  of  those  two  tables  piled  up  with  books  gradually 
enraged  me.  The  books,  the  papers,  the  inkstand,  all  were 
arrayed  лvith  a  revolting  tidiness,  the  ideal  of  which  would  have 
coincided  with  the  loftiest  conceptions  of  a  German  landlady 
and  her  maidservant.  There  were  a  good  many  books,  not 
merely  magazines  and  reviews,  but  real  books,  and  he  evidently 
read  them,  and  he  probably  sat  down  to  read  or  to  \\Tite  with 
an  extremely  important  and  precise  expression.  I  don't  know  why, 
but  I  prefer  to  see  books  lying  about  in  disorder.  Then,  at  any 
rate,  work  is  not  made  into  a  sacred  rite.  No  doubt  Vassin 
was  extremely  polite  to  his  visitors,  but  probably  every  gesture 
he  made  told  them  plainly,  "  I  will  spend  an  hour  and  a  half 
with  you,  and  afterward-,  when  you  go  away,  I'll  set  to  work." 
No  doubt  one  might  have  a  very  interesting  conversation  with 
him  and  hear  something  new  from  him,  but  he  would  be  thinking, 
'■  Here  we  are  talking  now,  and  I  am  interesting  you  very  much, 
but  when  you  go  away,  I  shall  proceed  to  something  more 
interesting.  .  .  ."  Yet  I  did  not  go  away,  but  went  on  sitting 
there.  That  I  had  absolute!}-  no  need  of  his  advice  I  was  by 
now  thoroughly  convinced. 

I  stayed  for  over  an  hour  sitting  on  one  of  the  two  rush- 
bottom   chairs  which    had    been    placed    by  the  window.     It 

137 


enraged  me,  too,  that  time  was  passing  and  that  before  evening 
I  had  to  find  a  lodging.  I  was  so  bored  that  I  felt  inclined  to 
take  up  a  book,  but  I  did  not.  At  the  very  thought  of  distracting 
my  mind  I  felt  more  disgusted  than  ever.  For  more  than  an 
hour  there  had  been  an  extraordinary  silence,  when  I  began 
gradually  and  unconsciously  to  distinguish  the  sound  of  whisper- 
ing, which  kept  growing  louder,  and  came  from  somewhere  close 
by,  the  other  side  of  a  door  that  was  blocked  up  by  the  sofa. 
There  were  two  voices,  evidently  women's,  so  much  I-  could 
hear,  but  I  could  not  distinguish  the  words.  And  yet  I  was  so 
bored  that  I  began  to  listen.  It  was  obvious  that  they  were 
talking  earnestly  and  passionately,  and  that  they  were  not 
talking  about  patterns.  They  were  discussing  or  disputing 
about  something,  or  one  voice  was  persuading,  or  entreating, 
while  the  other  was  refusing  or  protesting.  They  must  have 
been  other  lodgers.  I  soon  got  tired,  and  my  car  became 
accustomed  to  the  sound,  so  that  though  I  went  on  listening,  it 
was  only  mechanically,  and  sometimes  quite  without  remember- 
ing that  I  was  listening,  when  suddenly  something  extraordinary 
happened,  as  though  some  one  had  jumped  down  off  a  chair  on 
to  both  feet,  or  had  suddenly  leapt  up  and  stamped  ;  then  I 
heard  a  moan,  then  suddenly  a  shriek,  or  rather  not  a  shriek 
but  an  infuriated  animal  squeal,  reckless  whether  it  could  be 
overheard  or  not. 

I  rushed  to  the  door  and  opened  it ;  another  door  at  the  end 
of  the  corridor  was  opened  simultaneous!}',  the  door  of  the 
landlady's  room  as  I  learned  later,  and  from  it  two  inquisitive 
faces  peeped  out.  The  shriek,  however,  ceased  at  once,  and 
suddenly  the  door  next  to  mine  opened,  and  a  young  woman — 
so  at  least  she  seemed  to  me — dashed  out,  and  rushed  downstairs. 
The  other  woman,  who  was  elderly,  tried  to  stop  her,  but  did 
not  succeed,  and  could  only  moan  after  her  : 

"  Olya,  Olya,  where  are  you  going  ?  Och  !  "  But  noticing 
our  two  open  doors,  she  promptly  closed  hers,  leaving  a  crack 
through  which  she  listened  till  Olya's  footsteps  had  died  away 
completely  on  the  stairs.  I  turned  to  my  window.  All  was 
silence.  It  was  a  trivial  and  perhaps  ridiculous  incident,  and 
I  left  off  thinking  of  it. 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  I  heard  in  the  corridor  at 

Vassin's  door  a  loud  and  free-and-easy  masculine  voice.  Some  one 

took  hold  of  the  door-handle,  and  opened  the  door  far  enough 

-for  mc  to  see  in  the  passage  a  tall  man  who  had  already  obviously 

138 


seen  and  indeed  had  carefully  scrutinized  me,  although  he  had 
not  yet  entered  the  room,  but  stUl  holding  the  door-handle  went 
on  talking  to  the  landlady  at  the  other  end  of  the  passage.  The 
landlady  called  back  to  him  in  a  thin,  piping  little  voice  which 
betrayed  that  he  was  an  old  acquaintance,  respected  and  valued 
by  her  as  a  visitor  of  consequence,  and  a  gentleman  of  a  merry 
disposition.  The  merry  gentleman  shouted  witticisms,  but  his 
theme  was  only  the  impossibility  of  finding  Vassin  at  home.  He 
declared  that  this  was  his  destiny  from  his  birth  up,  that  he 
would  wait  again  as  before.  And  all  this,  no  doubt,  seemed  the 
height  of  wit  to  the  landlady.  Finally  the  visitor  flimg  the  door 
wide  open  and  came  in. 

He  was  a  well-dressed  gentleman,  evidently  turned  out  by  a 
good  tailor,  as  they  say,  "  like  a  real  gentleman,"  though  there 
was  nothing  of  "  the  real  gentleman  "  about  him,  in  spite,  I 
fancy,  of  his  desire  to  appear  one.  He  was  not  exactly  free  and 
easy,  but  somehow  naturally  insolent,  which  is  anjrway  less 
offensive  than  an  insolence  practised  before  the  looking-glass. 
His  brown,  slightly  grizzled  hair,  his  black  eyebrows,  big  beard 
and  large  eyes  instead  of  helping  to  define  his  character,  actually 
gave  him  something  universal,  like  every  one  else.  This  sort  of 
man  laughs  and  is  ready  to  laugh,  but  for  some  reason  one  is 
never  cheerful  in  his  company.  He  quickly  passes  from  a 
jocular  to  a  dignified  air,  from  dignity  to  playfulness  or  winking, 
but  all  this  seems  somehow  put  on  and  causeless.  .  .  .  However, 
there  is  no  need  to  describe  him  further,  I  came  later  on  to 
know  this  gentleman  more  intimately,  and  therefore  I  have  a 
more  definite  impression  of  him  now  than  when  he  opened  the 
door  and  came  into  the  room.  However,  even  now  I  should 
find  it  difficult  to  say  anything  exact  or  definite  about  him, 
because  the  chief  characteristic  of  such  people  is  just  their 
incompleteness,  their  artificiality  and  their  indefiniteness. 

He  had  scarcely  sat  down  when  it  dawned  upon  me  that  he 
must  be  Vassin's  stepfather,  one  M.  Stebelkov,  of  whom  I  had 
already  heard  something,  but  so  casually  that  I  couldn't  tell 
what  it  was  :  I  could  only  remember  that  it  was  not  to  his 
advantage.  I  knew  that  Vassin  had  long  ago  been  left  an 
orphan  under  this  gentleman's  control,  but  that  for  some  years 
past  he  had  not  been  under  his  influence,  that  their  aims  and 
interests  were  different,  and  that  they  lived  entirely  separated 
in  all  respects.  It  came  back  to  my  mind,  too,  that  this 
Stebelkov  had  some  money,  that  he  was,  indeed,  something  of 

139 


a  speculator  and  spendthrift ;  in  fact  I  had  probably  heard 
something  more  definite  about  him,  but  I  have  forgotten.  He 
looked  me  up  and  down,  without  bowing  to  me,  however,  put 
his  top  hat  down  on  a  table  in  front  of  the  sofa,  kicked  away 
the  table  with  an  air  of  authority,  and  instead  of  quietly  sitting 
do^v^l,  flung  himself  full  length  on  the  sofa  (on  which  I  had  not 
ventured  to  sit)  so  that  it  positively  creaked,  and  dangling 
his  legs  held  his  right  foot  up  in  the  air  and  began  admiring 
the  tip  of  his  patent-leather  boot.  Of  course  he  turned  at  once 
to  ШС  and  stared  at  me  with  his  big  and  rather  fixed-looking 
eyes. 

"  I  don't  find  him  ui,"  he  gave  me  a  slight  nod, 

I  did  not  speak. 

"  Not  punctual !  He  has  his  own  ideas  From  the  Petersburg 
Side  ?  " 

"  You  mean  you've  come  from  the  Petersburg  Side  '\  "'  I  asked 
him  in  my  turn. 

'■  No,  I  a&kcd  whether  you  had." 

"  I  .  .  .  yes,  I  have  .  .  .  but  how  did  you  know  ?  " 

'■  How  did  I  know  ?  H'm  !  "  He  winked,  but  did  not  deign 
to  explain. 

"  1  don't  live  on  the  Petersbiu-g  Side,  but  I've  just  been  there 
and  have  come  from  there." 

He  remained  silent,  still  v/ith  the  same  significant  smile,  which 
1  disliked  extremely.  There  was  something  stupid  in  his 
winking. 

"  From  M.  Dergatchcv's  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  From  Dergatchcv's  ?  "  I  opened  my  eyes.  He  gazed  at  me 
triumphantly.     "  I  don't  Icnow  him." 

"H'm  :  ' 

"  Well,  as  you  please,"  I  answered.     I  began  to  loathe  him. 

"  H'm.  ...  To  be  sure.  No,  excuse  me  :  j^u  buy  a  thing 
at  a  shop,  at  another  shop  next  door  another  man  buys  some- 
tiiing  else,  and  w  l>at.  do  you  suppose  ?  Money  from  a  tradesman 
who  is  called  a  money-lender  .  .  .  for  money  too  is  an  article 
of  sale,  and  a  money-lender  is  a  tradesman  too.  .  .  .  You  follow 
me?" 

"  Certamly  I  follow." 

"  A  third  purchaser  comes  along,  and  pointing  to  one  shop,  he 
says,  'This  Ls  sound.'  Then  he  points  to  the  other  shop  and 
says,  ''This  is  unsound.'  What  am  I  to  conclude  about  this 
piurchaser  ?  " 

140 


"  How  can  I  tell." 

"  No,  excuse  me.  I'll  take  an  example,  man  lives  by  good 
example.  I  walk  along  the  Nevsky  Prospect,  and  observe 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street  a  gentleman  whose  character  I 
should  like  to  investigate  more  closely.  We  walk,  one  each 
side  of  the  street  as  far  as  the  gate  leading  to  Mcr^kaya, 
and  there,  just  where  the  English  shop  is,  we  observe  a  third 
gentleman,  who  has  just  been  run  over.  Now  mark  :  a  fourth 
gentleman  walks  up,  and. wishes  to  mvestigate  the  character  of 
all  three  of  us,  including  the  man  who  has  been  run  over,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  practicability  and  soundness.  .  .  .  Do  you 
follow  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me,  with  great  difficulty." 

"  Quite  so  ;  just  what  I  thought.  I'll  change  the  subject. 
I  was  at  the  springs  in  Germany,  the  mineral  sprii-gs,  as  I  had 
frequently  been  before,  no  matter  which  springs.  I  go  to  drink 
the  waters  and  see  an  Englishman.  It  is  difficult  as  you  know 
to  make  acquaintance  with  an  Englishman  ;  two  months  later, 
having  finished  my  cure,  we  were  Avalking,  a  whole  party  of  u?, 
with  alpenstocks  on  the  mountain,  no  matter  what  mor.ntain. 
At  a  pass  there  is  an  etape,  the  one  where  the  monks  make 
Chartreuse,  note  that.  I  meet  a  native  standing  in  solitude 
looking  about  him  in  silence.  I  wish  to  form  my  conclusions 
in  regard  to  his  soundness  :  what  do  yo.u  think,  can  I  applj- 
for  conclusions  to  the  crowd  of  Englishmen  with  \vhom  I  am 
travelling  solely  because  I  was  unable  to  talk  to  them  at  the 
springs  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  Excuse  me,  it's  very  difficult  to  follow 
you."  , 

"  Difficult,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  weary  me."' 

"  H'm."  He  winked  and  made  a  gesture,  probably  intended 
to  suggest  victory  and  triumph  ;  then  with,  stolid  composure 
he  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  newspaper  which  he  had  evidently 
only  just  bought,  unfolded  it  and  began  reading  the  last  page, 
apparently  intending  to  leave  me  undisturbed.  For  five  minutes 
he  did  not  look  at  me. 

"  Brestograevskies  haven't  gone  smash,  eh!  Once  they've 
started,  they  go  on  !     I  know  a  lot  that  have  gone  smash." 

He  looked  at  me  with  intense  earnestness. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  Stock  Exchange  so  f;;ir," 
I  answered, 

141 


"  You  disapprove  of  it." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Money." 

"  I  don't  disapprove  of  money  but  .  .  .  but  I  think  ideaa 
come  first  and  money  second." 

"  That  is,  allow  me  to  say.  .  .  .  Here  you  have  a  man,  so  to 
say,  with  his  own  capital.  .  .  ." 

"  A  lofty  idea  comes  before  money,  and  a  society  with  money 
but  without  a  lofty  idea  comes  to  grief." 

I  don't  know  why,  but  I  began  to  grow  hot.  He  looked  at 
me  jather  blankly,  aj  though  he  were  perplexed,  but  suddenly 
his  whole  face  relaxed  in  a  gleeful  and  cunning  smile. 

"  Versilov,  hey  ?  He's  fairly  scored,  he  has !  Judgment 
given  yesterday,  eh  ?  " 

I  suddenly  perceived  to  my  surprise  that  he  knew  who  I  was, 
and  perhaps  knew  a  great  deal  more.  But  I  don't  understand 
why  I  flushed  and  stared  in  a  most  idiotic  way  without  taking 
my  eyes  off  him.  He  was  evidently  triumphant.  He  looked  at 
me  in  high  glee,  as  though  he  had  found  me  out  and  caught  me 
in  the  cleverest  way. 

"  No,"  he  said,  raising  both  his  eyebrows  ;  "  you  ask  me 
about  M.  Versilov.  What  did  I  say  to  you  just  now  about 
soundness  ?  A  year  and  a  half  ago  over  that  baby  he  might 
have  made  a  very  perfect  little  job,  but  he  came  to  grief." 

"  Over  what  baby  ?  " 

"  The  baby  who  is  being  brought  up  now  out  of  the  way,  but 
he  won't  gain  anything  by  it  .  .  .  because  ..." 

"  What  baby  1     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  His  baby,  of  cotu-se,  his  own  by  Mile.  Lidya  Ahmakov. 
.  .  .  '  A  charming  girl  very  fond  of  me.  .  .  .'  phosphorus 
matches — eh  ?  " 

"  What  nonsense,  what  a  wild  story  !  He  never  had  a  baby 
by  Mile.  Ahmakov  !  " 

"  Go  on  !  I've  been  here  and  there,  I've  been  a  doctor  and 
I've  been  an  accoucheur.  My  name's  Stebelkov,  haven't  you 
heard  of  me  ?  It's  true  I  haven't  practised  for  a  long  time,  but 
practical  advice  on  a  practical  matter  I  could  give." 

"  You're  an  accoucheur  .  .  .  did  you  attend  Mile. 
Ahmakov  ? " 

"  No,  I  did  not  attend  her.  In  a  suburb  there  was  a  doctor 
Granz,  burdened  with  a  family ;  he  was  paid  half  a  thaler, 
such  i3  the  position  of  doctors  out  there,  and  no  one  knew  him 

142 


either,  so  he  was  there  instead  of  me.  ...  I  recommended  him, 
indeed,  because  he  was  so  obscure  and  unknown.  You  follow  ? 
I  only  gave  practical  advice  when  Versilov,  Andrey  Petrovitch, 
asked  for  it ;  but  he  asked  me  in  dead  secret,  Ше-d-tete.  But 
Andrey  Petrovitch  wanted  to  catch  two  hares  at  once." 

I  listened  in  profound  astonishment. 

"  '  Chase  two  hares,  catch  neither,'  according  to  the  popular, 
or  rather  peasant,  proverb.  What  I  say  is  :  exceptions  con- 
tinually repeated  become  a  general  rule.  He  went  after  another 
hare,  or,  to  speak  plain  Russian,  after  another  lady,  and  with  no 
results.  Hold  tight  What  you've  got.  When  he  ought  to  be 
hastening  a  thing  on,  he  potters  about :  Versilov,  that '  petticoat 
prophet,'  as  young  Prince  Sokolsky  well  described  him  before  me 
at  the  time.  Yes,  you  had  better  come  to  me  !  If  there  is 
anything  you  want  to  know  about  Versilov,  you  had  better  come 
to  me  !  " 

He  was  evidently  delighted  at  my  open-mouthed  astonish- 
ment. I  had  never  heard  anything  before  about  a  baby.  And 
at  that  moment  the  door  of  the  next  room  slammed  as  some  one 
walked  rapidly  in. 

"  Versilov  lives  in  Mozhaisky  Street,  at  Lit  vino  v's  house. 
No.  17  ;  I  have  been  to  the  address  bureau  myself  !  "  a  woman's 
voice  cried  aloud  in  an  irritable  tone  ;  we  could  hear  every 
word.  Stebelkov  raised  his  eyebrows  and  held  up  his  finger. 
"  We  talk  of  him  here,  and  there  already  he's.  .  .  .  Here  you 
have  exceptions  continually  occurring  !  Quand  on  parle  d'une 
corde.  .  .  ." 

He  jumped  up  quickly  and  sitting  down  on  the  sofa,  began 
listening  at  the  door  in  front  of  which  the  sofa  stood,  I  too  wtis 
tremendously  struck.  I  reflected  that  the  speaker  was  probably 
the  same  young  girl  who  had  run  down  the  stairs  in  such  excite- 
ment. But  how  did  Versilov  come  to  be  mixed  up  in  this  too  ? 
Suddenly  there  came  again  the  same  shriek,  the  furious  shriek 
of  some  one  savage  with  anger,  who  has  been  prevented  from 
getting  or  doing  something.  The  only  difference  was  that  the 
cries  and  shrieks  were  more  prolonged  than  before.  There  were 
sounds  of  a  struggle,  a  torrent  of  words,  **  I  won't,  I  won't," 
"  Give  it  up,  give  it  up  at  once  !  "  or  something  of  the  sort,  I 
don't  remember  exactly.  Then,  just  as  before,  some  one  nished 
to  the  door  and  opened  it.  Both  the  people  in  the  room  rushed 
out  into  the  passage,  one  just  as  before,  trjdng  to  restrain  the 
other.    Stebelkov,  who  had  leapt  up  from  the  sofa,  and  been 

43 


listening  with  relish,  fairly  flew  to  the  door,  aiul  with  extreme 
lack  of  ceremony  dashed  into  the  passage  straight  upon  (he  two. 
I  too,  of  course,  ran  to  the  door.  But  his  appearance  in  the 
passage  acted  like  a  pail  of  cold  water.  The  two  women 
vanished  instanth',  and  shut  the  door  with  a  slam. 

Stebelkov  was  on  the  point  of  dashing  after  them,  but  he 
stopped  short,  held  up  his  finger  with  a  smile,  and  stood  con- 
sidering. This  time  I  detected  in  his  smile  something  nasty, 
evil  and  malignant.  Seeing  the  landlady,  who  was  again  stand- 
ing in  her  doorway,  he  ran  quickly  across  the  passage  to  her  on 
tiptoe  ;  after  whispering  to  her  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  no 
doubt  receiving  information,  he  came  back  to  the  room,  re- 
suming his  air  of  ponderous  dignity,  picked  up  his  top-hat  from 
the  table,  looked  at  himsc  If  in  the  looking-glass  as  he  passed, 
ruffled  up  his  hair,  and  with  self-complacent  dignity  went 
to  the  next  door  without  even  a  glance  in  my  direction.  For 
an  instant  he  held  his  ear  to  the  door,  listening,  then  winked 
triumphantly  across  the  passage  to  the  landlady,  who  shook 
her  finger  and  wagged  her  head  at  him,  as  though  to  say,  "  Och, 
naughty  man,  naughty  man  !  "  Fir.all}^  Avith  an  air  of  rcsclute, 
even  of  shrinking  delicacy,  he  knocked  with  his  knuckles  at  the 
door.     A  voice  asked  : 

"  Who's  there  V  " 

"  Will  you  allow  mo  to  enter  on  urgent  business  ?  "  Stebelkov 
pronounced  in  a  loud  and  dignified  voice. 

There  was  a  brit  f  delay,  yet  they  did  open  the  door,  first  only 
a  little  way  ;  but  Stebelkov  at  once  clutched  the  door-handle 
and  would  not  let  them  close  it  again.  A  conversation  followed, 
Stebelkov  began  talking  loudly,  still  pushing  his  way  into  the 
room.  I  don't  remember  the  words,  but  he  was  speaking  about 
V(>rsilov,  saying  that  he  could  tell  them,  could  explain  every- 
thing— "Yes,  i  can  tell  you,"  "Yes,  you  come  to  me" — or 
something  to  that  effect.  They  quickly  let  him  in,  I  went  back 
to  the  sofa  and  began  to  listen,  but  I  could  not  catch  it  all, 
1  could  only  hear  that  Versilov's  name  was  frequently  mentioned. 
From  the  intonations  of  his  voice  I  guessed  that  Stebelkov  by 
now  had  control  of  the  conversation,  that  he  no  longer  spoke 
insinuatingly  but  authoritatively,  in  the  same  style  as  he  had 
talk;;el  to  m.; — "  you  follow  ?  "  "  kindly  ne^te  that,"  and  so  on. 
With  women,  though,  he  must  have  been  extraordinarily  affable. 
Already  I  hael  twice  heard  his  loud  laugh,  probably  most  in- 
appropriate,  because  accompanying  his  voice,   and  sometimes 

44 


rising  above  it,  couid  Le  heard  the  voices  ^f  the  -.vomcn,  aiici 
they  sounded  anything  but  cheerful,  aiA  fsp,  ■  L\!Iy  that  of  tiic 
young  woman,  the  one  who  had  shrieked  :  -ho  talked  a  great 
deal,  rapidly  and  nervousl}^,  making  apparently  ьоте  accusation 
or  complaint,  and  seeking  judgment  or  redress.  But  Stebelkov 
did  not  give  way,  he  raised  his  voice  higher  and  higher,  and 
laughed  more  and  more  often  ;  such  men  are  unable  to  listen  to 
other  people.  I  soon  jumped  up  from  the  sofa,  for  it  seemed  to 
me  shameful  to  be  eavesdropping,  and  went  back  again  to  the 
rush-bottom  chair  by  the  window.  I  felt  convinced  that  Vassin 
did  not  think  much  of  this  gentleman,  but  that,  if  anyone  else 
had  expressed  the  .same  opinion,  he  would  have  at  once  defended 
him  with  grave  dignity,  and  have  observed  that,  "  he  was  a 
practical  man,  and  one  of  those  modern  bu.sincss  people  \vho 
were  not  to  be  judged  from  our  theoretical  and  abstract  stand- 
points." At  that  instant,  hov/ever,  I  felt  somehow  morally 
shattered,  my  heart  was  throbbing  and  I  was  unmistakably 
expecting  something. 

About  ten  minutes  passed  ;  suddenly  in  the  mid.-t  of  a  resou rid- 
ing peal  of  laughter  some  one  leapt  up  from  a  chair  with  just 
the  same  noise  as  before,  then  I  heard  .shrieks  from  both  the 
women.  I  heard  Stebelkov  jump  up  too  and  &a\  something  in 
quite  a  different  tone  of  voice,  as  thouuh  lie  were  justifying 
himself  and  begging  them  to  listen.  .  .  .  But  they  did  not  listen 
to  him  ;  I  heard  cries  of  anger  :  "  Go  away  I  You're  a  scoundrel, 
you're  a  shameless  villain  !  "  In  fact  it  was  clear  that  he  was 
being  turned  out  of  the  room.  I  opened  the  door  at  the  very 
minute  when  he  skipped  into  the  passage,  as  it  seemed  literally 
thrust  out  by  thoir  hands.  Seeing  me  he  cried  out  at  once, 
pointing  at  me  :  "  This  is  VersUov's  .son  '.  If  you  don't  btlieve 
me,  here  is  his  son.  his  own  son  !  I  assure  you  !  "  And  he 
seized  me  by  the  arm  as  though  I  belonged  to  him.  "  This  is 
his  son,  his  own  son  !  "  he  repeated,  though  he  added  nothing 
by  way  of  explanation,  as  he  led  me  to  the  ladies. 

The  young  woman  was  standing  in  the  passage,  the  elderly 
one  a  step  behind  her,  in  the  doorway.  I  only  remember  that 
this  poor  girl  was  about  twenty,  and  pretty,  though  thin  and 
sickly  looking  ;  she  had  red  hair,  and  was  somehow  a  little  like 
ray  sister  ;  this  likeness  flashed  upon  mo  at  the  time,  and  re- 
mained in  my  memory  ;  but  Liza  never  had  been,  and  never 
could  have  been  in  the  wrathful  frenzy  by  which  the  girl  stand- 
ing before  me  was  pos.sessed  :  her  lips  were  white,  her  light  grey 

45  ^ 


eyee  were  flashing,  she  wae  trembling  all  over  with  indignation. 
I  remember,  too,  that  I  was  in  an  exceedingly  fooUsh  and  un- 
dignified position,  for,  thanks  to  this  insolent  scoundrel,  I  wae 
at  a  complete  loss  what  to  say. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  his  son  !  If  he's  with  you  he's  a 
scoundrel  too.  If  you  are  Versilov's  son,"  she  turned  suddenly 
to  me,  "  tell  yoiw  father  from  me  that  he  is  a  scoundrel,  that 
he's  a  mean,  shameless  wretch,  that  I  don't  want  his  money.  .  .  . 
There,  there,  there,  give  him  this  money  at  once  !  " 

She  hurriedly  took  out  of  her  pocket  several  notes,  but  the 
older  lady  (her  mother,  as  it  appeared  later)  clutched  her  hand  : 

"  Olya,  but  you  know  .  .  .  perhaps  it's  not  true  .  .  .  perhaps 
it's  not  his  son  !  " 

Olya  looked  at  her  quickly,  reflected,  looked  at  me  con- 
temptuously and  went  back  into  the  room  ;  but  before  she 
slammed  the  door  she  stood  still  in  the  doorway  and  shouted 
to  Stebelkov  once  more  : 

'*  Go  away  !  " 

And  she  even  stamped  her  foot  at  him.  Then  the  door  was 
slammed  and  locked.  Stebelkov,  still  holding  me  by  the 
shoulder,  with  his  finger  raised  and  his  mouth  relaxed  in  a  slow 
doubtful  grin,  bent  a  look  of  inquiry  on  me. 

"  I  consider  the  way  you've  behaved  with  me  ridiculous  and 
disgraceful,"  I  muttered  indignantly.  But  he  did  not  hear 
what  I  said,  though  he  was  still  staring  at  me. 

"  This  ought  to  be  looked  into,"  he  pronounced,  pondering. 

"  But  how  dare .  you  drag  me  in  ?  Who  is  this  ?  What  is 
this  woman  ?  You  took  me  by  the  shoulder,  and  brought  me 
in — ^what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  by  Jove  !  A  young  person  who  has  lost  her  fair  fame 
...  a  frequently  recurring  exception — ^you  follow  ?  "  And  he 
poked  me  in  the  chest  with  his  finger. 

"  Ech,  damnation ! "  I  pushed  away  his  finger.  But  he 
suddenly  and  quite  unexpectedly  went  off  into  a  low,  noiseless, 
prolonged  chuckle  of  merriment.  Finally  he  put  on  his  hat 
and,  with  a  rapid  change  to  an  expression  of  gloom,  he  observed, 
frowning  : 

*'  The  landlady  must  be  informed  .  .  .  they  must  be  tum6d 
out  of  the  lodgings,  to  be  sure,  and  without  loss  of  time  too,  or 
they'll  be  .  .  .  you  will  see  !  Mark  my  words,  you  will  see  ! 
Yes,  by  Jove!  "  he  was  gleeful  again  all  at  once.  "  You'll  wait 
for  Grisha,  I  suppose  ?  " 

146 


"  No,  I  shan't  wait,"  I  answered  resolutely. 

"  Well,  it's  all  one  to  me.  .  .  ." 

And  without  adding  another  syllable  he  turned,  went  out, 
and  walked  downstairs,  without  vouchsafing  a  glance  in  the 
landlady's  direction,  though  she  was  evidently  expecting  news 
and  explanations.  I,  too,  took  up  my  hat,  and  asking  the 
landlady  to  tell  Vassin  that  I,  Dolgoruky,  had  called,  I  ran 
downstairs. 


I  had  merely  wasted  my  time.  On  coming  out  I  set  to  work 
at  once  to  look  for  lodgings ;  but  I  was  preoccupied.  I 
wandered  about  the  streets  for  several  ho\irs,  and,  though  I  went 
into  five  or  six  flats  with  rooms  to  let,  I  am  sure  I  passed  by 
twenty  without  noticing  them.  To  increase  my  vexation  I 
found  it  far  more  difficult  to  get  a  lodging  than  I  had  imagined. 
Everywhere  there  were  rooms  like  Vassin's,  or  a  great  deal  worse, 
while  the  rent  was  enormous,  that  is,. not  what  I  had  reckoned 
upon.  I  asked  for  nothing  more  than  a  "  corner  "  where  I  could 
turn  round,  and  I  was  informed  contemptuously  that  if  that  was 
what  I  wanted,  I  must  go  where  rooms  were  let  "in  corners." 
Moreover,  I  found  everyivhere  numbers  of  strange  lodgers,  in 
whose  proximity  I  could  not  have  lived ;  in  fact,  I  would  have 
paid  anything  not  to  have  to  Uve  in  their  proximity.  There 
were  queer  gentlemen  in  their  waistcoats  without  their  coats, 
who  had  dishevelled  beards,  and  were  inquisitive  and  free-and- 
easy  in  their  manners.  In  one  tiny  room  there  were  about  a 
dozen  such  sitting  over  cards  and  beer,  and  I  was  offered  the 
next  room.  In  another  place  I  answered  the  landlady's  in- 
quiries so  absurdly  that  they  looked  at  me  in  surprise,  and  in 
one  flat  I  actually  began  quarrelling  with  the  people.  How- 
ever^  I  won't  describe  these  dismal  details  ;  I  only  felt  that  I 
was  awfully  tired.  I  had  something  to  eat  in  a  cookshop  when 
it  was  almost  dark.  I  finally  decided  that  I  would  go  and  give 
Versilov  the  letter  concerning  the  will,  with  no  one  else  present 
(making  no  explanation),  that  I  would  go  upstairs,  pack  my 
things  in  my  trunk  and  bag,  and  go  for  the  night,  if  need  be,  to 
an  hotel.  At  the  end  of  the  Obuhovsky  Prospect,  at  the  Gate 
of  Triumph,  I  knew  there  was  an  inn  where  one  could  get  a 
room  to  oneself  for  thirty  kopecks  ;  I  resolved  for  one  night  to 
sacrifice  that  sum,  rather  than  sleep  at  Versilov 's.     And  as  I 

147 


was  passing  the  Institute  of  Technology,  the  notion  suddenly 
struck  me  to  call  on  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  who  lived  just  opposite 
the  institute.  My  pretext  for  going  in  was  this  same  letter 
about  the  will,  but  my  overwhelming  impulse  to  go  in  was  due 
to  some  other  cause,  which  I  cannot  to  this  day  explain.  My 
mind  was  in  a  turmoil,  brooding  qver  "the  baby,''  the  "excep- 
tions that  pass  into  rules."  I  had  a  longing  to  tell  some  one, 
or  to  make  a  scene,  or  to  fight,  or  even  to  have  a  cry — I  can't 
tell  which,  but  I  went  up  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna's.  I  had  only 
been  there  once  before,  with  some  message  from  my  mother, 
soon  after  I  came  from  Moscoav,  and  I  remember  I  went  in,  gave 
my  message,  and  went  out  a  minute  later,  without  sitting  do^vn, 
and  indeed  she  did  not  ask  me  to. 

I  rang  the  bell,  and  the  cook  at  once  opened  the  door  to  me, 
and  showed  me  into  the  room  without  speaking.  All  these 
details  are  necessary  that  the  reader  may  understand  how  the 
mad  adventure,  which  had  so  vast  an  influence  on  all  that 
followed,  was  rendered  possible.  And  to  begin  with,  as  regards 
the  cook.  She  луаз  an  ill-tempered,  snub-nosed  Finnish 
woman,  and  I  believe  hated  her  mistress  Tatyana  Pavlovna, 
while  the  latter,  on  the  contrary,  could  not  bring  herself  to  part 
with  her  from  a  peculiar  sort  of  infatuation,  such  as  old  maids 
sometimes  show  for  damp-nosed  pug  dogs,  or  somnolent  cats. 
The  Finnish  woman  was  either  spiteful  and  rude  or,  after  a 
quarrel,  would  be  silent  for  weeks  together  to  punish  her 
mistress.  I  must  have  chanced  upon  one  of  these  dumb  days, 
for  even  when  I  asked  her,  as  I  remember  doing,  whether  her 
mistress  were  at  home,  she  made  no  answer,  but  walked  off  to 
the  kitchen  in  silence.  Feeling  sure  after  this  that  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  was  at  home,  I  Avalked  into  the  room,  and  finding  no 
one  there,  v/aitcd  expecting  that  she  would  come  out  of  her 
bodroora  before  long  ;  otherwise,  why  should  the  cook  have 
shown  me  in  ?  Without  sitting  down,  I  waited  two  minutes, 
three  ;  it  was  dusk  and  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  dark  flat  seemed 
even  less  hospitable  from  the  endless  yards  of  cretonne  hanging 
about.  A  couple  of  words  about  that  horrid  little  flat,  to  explain 
the  i^urroundings  of  лvhat  followed.  With  her  obstinate  and 
peremptory  character,  and  the  tastes  she  had  formed  from 
jiving  in  the  country  in  the  past,  Tatyana  Pavlovna  could  not 
put  up  Avith  furnished  lodgings,  and  had  taken  this  parocjy  of  a 
flat  simply  in  order  to  live  apart  and  be  her  own  mistress.  The 
two  rooius  were  exactly  like  two  bird-cages,  set  side  by  side,  one 

148 


smaller  than  the  other  ;  the  flat  was  on  the  third  storey,  and 
the  windows  looked  into  the  courtyard.  Coming  into  the  flat, 
one  stepped  straight  into  a  tiny  passage,  a  yard  and  a  half  wide  ; 
on  the  left,  the  two  afore-mentioned  bird-cages,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  passage  the  tiny  kitchen.  The  five  hundred  cubic  feet 
of  air  required  to  last  a  human  being  twelve  hours  were  perhaps 
provided  in  this  room,  but  hardly  more.  The  rooms  Mere 
hideously  low-pitched,  and,  what  was  stupider  than  anything, 
the  windows,  the  doors,  the  furniture,  all  were  hung  or  draped 
with  cretonne,  good  French  cretonne,  and  decorated  with 
festoons  ;  but  this  made  the  room  twice  as  dark  and  more 
than  evar  like  the  inside  of  a  travelling-coach.  In  the  room 
where  I  was  waiting  it  was  possible  to  turn  round,  though  it 
was  cumbered  up  with  furniture,  and  the  furniture,  by  the  way, 
was  not  at  all  bad  :  there  were  all  sorts  of  little  inlaid  tables, 
with  bronze  fittings,  boxes,  an.  elegant  and  even  sumptuous 
toilet  table.  But  the  next  room,  from  which  I  expected  her  to 
come  in,  the  bedroom,  screened  off  by  a  thick  curtain,  consisted 
literally  of  a  bedstead,  as  appeared  afterward.s.  All  tlicse 
details  are  necessary  to  explain  the  fooli?hnes'>  of  whirh  I  was 
guilty. 

So  1  had  no  doubts  and  was  waiting,  when  there  came  a  ring 
at  the  bell.  I  heard  the  cook  cro.ss  the  little  passage  with  lagging 
footsteps,  and  admit  the  visitors,  still  in  silence,  just  as  she  had 
m-^.  They  were  two  ladies  and  both  were  talking  loudly,  but 
what  was  my  amazement  when  from  their  voices  I  recognized 
one  as  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  the  other  as  the  woman  I  ^\as 
least  prepared  to  meet  now,  above  all  in  such  circ^imstaiiees  ! 
I  could  not  be  mistaken  :  I  had  heard  that  powerful,  mellow, 
rmging  voice  the  day  before,  only  for  three  minutes  it  is  true, 
but  it  still  resounded  ш  my  heart.  Yes,  it  Avas  "  j-esterday"s 
woman."  What  was  I  to  do  ?  I  am  not  asking  the  reader 
thi^  question,  I  am  only  picturing  that  moment  to  myself,  and 
I  am  utterly  unable  to  imagine  even  now  how  it  came  to  ]xiss 
that  I  suddenly  rushed  behind  the  curtain,  and  found  myself 
in  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  bedroom.  In  short,  I  hid  myself,  and 
had  scarcely  time  to  do  so  when  thej'  walked  in.  Why  I  hid 
and  did  not  come  forward  to  meet  them,  I  don't  know.  It  all 
happened  accidentally  and  absolutely  лvithout  premeditation. 

After  rushing  mto  the  bedroom  and  knocking  against  the 
bed,  I  noticed  at  once  that  there  was  a  door  leading  from  the 
bedroom  into  the  kitchen,  and  so  there  was  a  v.Ry  out  cif  my 

149 


horrible  position,  and  I  could  make  my  escape  but — oh,  horror  ! 
the  door  was  locked,  and  there  was  no  key  in  it.  I  sank  on 
the  bed  in  despair ;  I  realized  that  I  should  overhear  their  talk, 
and  from  the  first  sentence,  from  the  first  sound  of  their  con- 
versation, I  guessed  that  they  were  discussing  deUcate  and 
private  matters.  Oh,  of  course,  a  straightforward  and  honour- 
able man  should  even  then  have  got  up,  come  out,  said 
aloud,  "  I'm  here,  stop  !  "  and,  in  spite  of  his  ridiculous  position, 
walked  past  them  ;  but  I  did  not  get  up,  and  did  not  come  out ; 
I  didn't  dare,  I  was  in  a  most  despicable  funk. 

"  My  darling  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  you  distress  me  very 
much,"  Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  saying  in  an  imploring  voice. 
"  Set  your  mind  at  rest  once  for  all,  it's  not  like  you.  You 
bring  joy  with  you  wherever  you  go,  and  now  suddenly  .  .  . 
I  suppose  you  do  still  believe  in  me  ?  Why,  you  know  how 
devoted  I  am  to  you.  As  much  so  as  to  Audrey  Petrovitch, 
and  I  make  no  secret  of  my  undying  devotion  to  him.  .  .  .  But 
do  believe  me,  I  swear  on  my  honour  he  has  no  such  document 
in  his  possession,  and  perhaps  no  one  else  has  either  ;  and  he 
is  not  capable  of  anything  so  underhand,  it's  wicked  of  you  to 
suspect  him.  This  hostility  between  you  two  is  simply  the 
work  of  your  own  imaginations.  .  .  ." 

"  There  is  such  a  document,  and  he  is  capable  of  anything. 
And  there,  as  soon  as  I  go  in  yesterday,  the  first  person  I  meet 
is  ce  petit  espion,  whom  he  has  foisted  on  my  father." 

"  Ach,  ce  petit  espion  !  To  begin  with  he  is  not  an  espion  at  all, 
for  it  was  I,  I  insisted  on  his  going  to  the  prince,  or  else  he  would 
have  gone  mad,  or  died  of  hunger  in  Moscow — that  was  the 
account  they  sent  us  of  him  ;  and  what's  more,  that  unmannerly 
urchin  is  a  perfect  little  fool,  how  could  he  be  a  spy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  fool,  but  that  does  not  prevent  his  being  a 
scoundrel.  If  I  hadn't  been  so  angry,  I  should  have  died  of 
laughing  yesterday :  he  turned  pale,  he  ran  about,  made  bows 
and  talked  French.  And  Marie  Ivanovna  talked  of  him  in 
Moscow  as  a  genius.  That  that  unlucky  letter  is  still  in  existence 
and  is  in  dangerous  hands  somewhere,  I  gathered  chiefly  from 
Marie  Ivanovna's  face." 

"  My  beauty  !   why  you  say  yourself  she  has  nothing  !  " 

"  That's  just  it,  that  she  has  ;  she  does  nothing  but  tell  lies, 
and  she  is  a  good  hand  at  it,  I  can  tell  you  !  Before  I  went  to 
Moscow,  I  still  had  hopes  that  no  papers  of  any  sort  were  left, 
but  then,  then.  .  .  ." 

150 


"  Oh,  it's  quite  the  contrary,  my  dear,  I  am  told  she  is  a  good- 
natured  and  sensible  creature ;  Andronikov  thought  more  of  her 
than  of  any  of  his  other  nieces.  It's  true  I  don't  know  her  well — 
but  you  should  have  won  her  over,  my  beauty  !  It's  no  trouble 
to  you  to  win  hearts — ^why,  I'm  an  old  woman,  but  here  I'm 
quite  in  love  with  you  already,  and  can't  resist  kissing  you.  .  .  . 
But  it  would  have  been  nothing  to  you  to  win  her  heart." 

"'  I  did,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  I  tried ;  she  was  enchanted  with 
me,  but  she's  very  sly  too.  .  .  .  Yes,  she's  a  regular  type,  and 
a  peculiar  Moscow  type.  .  .  .  And  would  you  believe  it,  she 
advised  me  to  apply  to  a  man  here  culled  Kraft,  who  had  been 
Andronikov's  assistant.  '  Maybe  he  knows  something,*  she 
said.  I  had  some  idea  of  what  Kraft  wais  like,  and  in  fact,  I  had 
a  faint  recollection  of  him  ;  but  as  she  talked  about  Kraft,  I 
suddenly  felt  certain  that  it  w£is  not  that  she  simply  knew  nothing 
but  that  she  knew  all  about  it  and  was  lying." 

"  But  why,  why  ?  Well,  perhaps  you  might  find  out  from 
him  !  That  German,  Kraft,  isn't  a  chatterbox,  and  I  remember 
him  as  very  honest — ^you  really  ought  to  question  him  !  Only 
I  fancy  he  is  not  in  Petersburg  now.  ..." 

"  Oh,  he  came  back  yesterday  evening,  I  have  just  been  to 
see  him.  ...  I  have  come  to  you  in  such  a  state,  I'm  shaking 
all  over.  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  my  angel, 
for  you  know  every  one,  wouldn't  it  be  possible  to  find  out  from 
his  papers,  for  he  must  have  left  papers,  to  whom  they  will  come 
now  ?  They  may  come  into  dangerous  hands  again  !  I  wanted 
to  ask  your  advice." 

"  But  what  papers  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  said  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  not  understanding.  "  Why,  you  say  you  have  just 
been  at  Kraft's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  been,  I  have,  I  have  just  been  there,  but  he's 
shot  himself  1  Yesterday  evening." 

I  jumped  up  from  the  bed.  I  was  able  to  sit  through  being 
called  a  spy  and  an  idiot,  and  the  longer  the  conversation  went 
on  the  more  impossible  it  seemed  to  show  myself.  It  was 
impossible  to  contemplate !  I  inwardly  determined  with  a 
sinking  heart  to  stay  where  I  was  till  Tatyana  Pavlovna  went 
to  the  door  with  her  visitor  (if,  that  is,  I  were  lucky,  and  she 
did  not  before  then  come  to  fetch  something  from  the  bedroom), 
and  afterwards,  when  Mme.  Ahmakov  had  gone  out,  then, 
if  need  be,  I'd  fight  it  out  with  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  .  .  .  But 
when,  now,  suddenly  hearing  about  Kraft,  I  jumped  up  from 

151 


bhe  bed,  I  shuddered  all  over.  Without  thinking,  without 
reflecting,  or  realizing  what  I  was  doing,  I  took  a  step,  lifted 
the  curtain,  and  appeared  before  the  two  of  them.  It  was  still 
light  enough  for  them  to  see  me,  pale  and  trembling.  .  .  .  They 
both  cried  out,  and  indeed  they  well  might. 

"  Kraft  ?  "  I  muttered,  turning  to  Mme.  Ahmakov — "  he  has 
shot  himself  ":     Yesterday  ?     At  sunset  ?  " 

"  Where  were  you  ?  Where  have  j'ou  come  from  ?  "  screamed 
Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  she  literally  clawed  my  shoulder. 
"  You've  been  spying  ?   Yon  have  been  eavesdropping  ?  " 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  just  now  ?  "  said  Katerina  Nikolaevna, 
getting  up  from  the  sofa  and  pointing  at  me. 

I  was  beside  myself. 

"  It's  a  lie,  it's  nonsense  !  "  I  broke  in  furiously.  "  You  called 
me  a  spy  just  now,  my  God  !  You  are  not  worth  spying  on, 
life's  not  worth  living  in  the  same  world  with  such  people  as  you, 
in  fact  !  A  great-hearted  man  has  killed  himself,  Kraft  has 
shot  himself — for  the  sake  of  an  idea,  for  the  sake  of  Hecuba. 
.  .  .  But  how  should  you  know  about  Hecuba  ?  .  .  .  And 
here — one's  to  live  among  your  intrigues,  to  linger  in  the  midst 
of  your  lying,  3*our  deceptions  and  underhand  plots.  .  .  . 
Enough  !  " 

"  Slap  him  in  the  face  !  Slap  him  in  the  face  !  "  cried  Tat^'ana 
PavloTna,  and  as  Katerina  Nikolaevna  did  not  move,  though 
she  stared  fixedly  at  me  (I  remember  it  all  minutely),  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  would  certainly  have  done  so  herself  without  loss  of 
time,  so  that  I  instinctively  raised  my  hand  to  protect  my  face  ; 
and  this  gesture  led  her  to  imagine  that  I  meant  to  strike  her. 

"  Weil,  strike  me,  strike  me,  show  me  that  you  are  a  low  cur 
from  your  birth  up  :  you  are  stronger  than  women,  why  stand 
on  ceremony  with  them  !  " 

"  That's  enough  of  3'our  slander!"  I  cried.  "  I  have  never 
raised  my  hand  against  a  woman  !  You  are  shameless,  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  you'vo  always  treated  me  with  contempt.  Oh, 
fv^rvanls  mu=:*  be  treated  without  respect !  You  laugh,  Katerina 
Nikolaevna,  at  my  appearance  I  suppose  ;  yes,  God  has  not 
blessed  m^  ^\ith  the  elegance  of  your  young  officers.  And,  yet 
I  don't  feel  humbled  before  you,  on  the  contrary  I  feel  exalted, 
.  .  .  T  don't  care  how  I  express  myself,  only  I'm  not  to  blame  ! 
I  got  here  b}'  accident,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  it's  all  the  fault  of 
your  cook,  or  rather  of  your  devotion  to  her  :  why  did  she 
bring  me  in  here  without  answering  my  question  ?     And  after- 

152 


wards  to  dash  out  of  a  woman's  bedroom  seemed  so  monstrous, 
that  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  show  myself,  but  to  sit  and  put 
up  with  your  insults.  .  .  .  You  are  laughing  again,  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  !  " 

'■  Leave  the  room,  leave  the  room,  go  away ! ''  screamed  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  almost  pushing  me  out.  "  Don't  think  anything  of  his 
abuse,  Katerina  Nikolaevna  :  I've  told  you  that  they  sent  us 
word  that  he  was  mad  !  " 

"  Mad  ?  They  sent  word  ?  Who  sent  you  word  ?  No 
matter,  enough  of  this,  Katerina  Nikolaevna  !  I  swear  to  you 
by  all  that's  sacred,  this  conversation  and  all  that  I've  heard 
shall  remain  hidden.  ...  Am  I  to  blame  for  having  learned 
your  secrets  ?  Especially  as  I  am  leaving  j'our  father's  service 
to-morrow,  so  as  regards  the  letter  \'ou  are  looking  for,  you  need 
not  worry  yourself  !  " 

'■  Wliat's  that.  .  .  .  \Miat  letter  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 
asked  Katerina  Nikolaevna  in  such  confusion  that  she  turned 
pale,  or  perhaps  I  fancied  it.  I  realized  that  I  had  said  too 
much. 

I  walked  quickly  out;  they  watched  mc  go  without  a  word, 
with  looks  of  intense  amazement.  I  had  in  fact  set  them  a 
riddle. 


CHAPTER  IX 

1 

I  HURRIED  home  and — marvellous  to  relate — I  was  very  well 
satisfied  with  myself.  That's  not  the  way  one  talks  to  women, 
of  course,  and  to  such  women  too — it  would  be  truer  to  say  such 
a  woman,  for  I  was  not  considering  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  Perhaps 
it's  out  of  the  question  to  say  to  a  woman  of  that  class  that  one 
spits  on  her  intrigues,  but  I  had  said  that,  and  it  was  just  that 
that  I  was  pleased  with.  Apart  from  anj-thing  else,  I  was 
convinced  that  by  taking  this  tone  I  had  effaced  all  that  was 
ridiculous  in  my  position.  But  I  had  not  time  to  think  much 
about  that :  my  mind  was  full  of  Kraft.  Not  that  the  thought 
of  him  distressed  me  very  greatly,  but  yet  I  was  shaken  to  my 
inmost  depths,  and  so  much  so  that  the  ordinary  human  feeling 
of  pleasure  at  another  man's  misfortune — at  his  breaking  his 
leg  or  covering  himself  with  disgrace,  at  his  losing  some  one 
dear  to  him,  and  so  on — even  this  ordinary  feeling  of  mean 

153 


satisfaction  was  completely  eclipsed  by  another  absolutely 
single-hearted  feeling,  a  feeling  of  sorrow,  of  compassion  for 
Kraft — at  least  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  compassion,  but 
it  was  a  strong  and  warm-hearted  feeling.  And  I  was  glad  of 
this  too.  It's  marvellous  how  many  irrelevant  ideas  can  flash 
through  the  mind  at  the  very  time  when  one  is  shattered  by  some 
tremendous  piece  of  news,  which  one  would  have  thought  must 
overpower  all  other  feelings  and  banish  all  extraneous  thoughts, 
especially  petty  ones  ;  yet  petty  ones,  on  the  contrary,  obtrude 
themselves.  I  remember,  too,  that  I  was  gradually  overcome 
by  a  quite  perceptible  nervous  shudder,  which  lasted  several 
minutes,  in  fact  all  the  time  I  was  at  home  and  talking  to 
Versilov. 

This  interview  followed  imder  strange  and  exceptional  circum- 
stances. I  had  mentioned  already,  that  we  lived  in  a  separate 
lodge  in  the  courtyard  ;  this  lodging  was  marked  "  No.  13." 
Before  I  had  entered  the  gate  I  heard  a  woman's  voice  asking 
loudly,  with  impatience  and  irritation,  "  Where  is  No.  13  ?  " 
The  question  was  asked  by  a  lady  who  was  standing  close  to 
the  gate  and  had  opened  the  door  of  the  little  shop  ;  but  appar- 
ently she  got  no  answer  there,  or  was  even  repulsed,  for  she 
came  down  the  steps,  resentful  and  angry. 

"  But  where  is  the  porter  ?  "  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot. 
I  had  already  recognized  the  voice. 

"  I  am  going  to  No.  13,"  I  said,  approaching  her.  "  Whom 
do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  the  porter  for  the  last  hour.  I 
keep  asking  every  one  ;  I  have  been  up  all  the  staircases." 

"  It's  in  the  yard.    Don't  you  recognize  me  ?  " 

But  by  now  she  had  recognized  me. 

"  You  want  Versilov  ;  you  want  to  see  him  about  something, 
and  so  do  I,"  I  went  on.  "  I  have  come  to  take  leave  of  him 
for  ever.    Come  along." 

"  You  are  his  son  ?  " 

"  That  means  nothing.  Granted,  though,  that  I  am  his  son, 
yet  my  name's  Dolgoruky  ;  I  am  illegitimate.  This  gentleman 
has  an  endless  supply  of  illegitimate  children.  When  conscience 
and  honour  require  it  a  son  will  leave  his  father's  house.  That's 
in  the  Bible.  He  has  come  into  a  fortune  too,  and  I  don't  wish 
to  share  it,  and  I  go  to  live  by  the  work  of  my  hands.  A  noble- 
hearted  man  will  sacrifice  life  itself,  if  need  be  ;  Kraft  has  shot 
himself,  Kraft  for  the  sake  of  an  idea,  imagine,  a  young  man, 

154 


yet  he  overcame  hope.  .  .  .  This  way,  this  way !  We  live  in 
a  lodge  apart.  But  that's  in  the  Bible ;  children  leave  their 
parents  and  make  homes  for  themselves.  ...  If  the  idea  draws 
one  on  ...  if  there  is  an  idea  1  The  idea  is  what  matters,  the 
idea  is  everything.  .  .  ." 

I  babbled  on  Uke  this  while  we  were  making  our  way  to  the 
lodge.  The  reader  will,  no  doubt,  observe  that  I  don't  spare 
myself  much,  though  I  give  myself  a  good  character  on  occasion  ; 
I  want  to  train  myself  to  tell  the  truth.  Versilov  was  at  home. 
I  went  in  without  taking  off  my  overcoat ;  she  did  the  same. 
Her  clothes  were  dreadfully  thin  :  over  a  wretched  gown  of 
some  dark  coloiu*  was  hung  a  rag  that  did  duty  for  a  cloak  or 
mantle  ;  on  her  head  she  wore  an  old  and  frayed  sailor-hat, 
which  was  very  unbecoming.  When  we  went  into  the  room 
my  mother  was  sitting  at  her  usual  place  at  work,  and  my  sister 
came  out  of  her  room  to  see  who  it  was,  and  was  standing  in 
the  doorway.  Versilov,  as  usual,  was  doing  nothing,  and  he 
got  up  to  meet  us.  He  looked  at  me  intently  with  a  stem  and 
inquiring  gaze. 

"  It's  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  I  hastened  to  explain,  and 
I  stood  on  one  side.  "  I  only  met  this  person  at  the  gate  ;  she 
was  trying  to  find  you  and  no  one  could  direct  her.  I  have  come 
about  my  own  business,  which  I  shall  be  delighted  to  explain 
afterwards,  .  .  ." 

Versilov  nevertheless  still  scrutinized  me  curiously. 

"  Excuse  me,"  the  girl  began  impatiently.  Versilov  turned 
towards  her. 

"  I  have  been  wondering  a  long  while  what  induced  you  to 
leave  money  for  me  yesterday.  ...  I  ...  in  short  .  .  .  here's 
your  money  !  "  she  almost  shrieked,  as  she  had  before,  and  flung 
a  bundle  of  notes  on  the  table.  "  I've  had  to  hunt  for  you 
through  the  address  bureau,  or  I  should  have  brought  it  before. 
Listen,  you  !  "  She  suddenly  addressed  my  mother,  who  had 
turned  quite  pale.  "  I  don't  want  to  insult  you  ;  you  look  honest, 
and  perhaps  this  is  actually  your  daughter.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  are  his  wife,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  this  gentleman 
gets  hold  of  the  advertisements  on  which  teachers  and  gover- 
nesses have  spent  their  last  farthing  and  visits  these  luckless 
wretches  with  dishonourable  motives,  trj'ing  to  lure  them  to 
ruin  by  money.  I  don't  understand  how  I  could  have  taken 
his  money  yesterday :  he  looked  so  honest.  .  .  .  Get  away, 
don't  say  a  word  !     You  are  a  villain,  sir  !     Even  if  you  had 

155 


honourable  intentions  I  don't  want  your  charity.  Not  a  word, 
not  a  word  !  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  that  I  have  unmasked  you  now 
before  your  women  !     Curse  you  !  " 

She  ran  to  the  door,  but  turned  for  one  instant  in  the  doorway 
to  shout. 

'■  You've  come  into  a  fortune,  I'm  told." 

With  that  she  vanished  like  a  shadow.  I  repeat  again,  it 
was  frenzy,  Versilov  was  greatly  astonished  ;  he  stood  as 
though  pondering  and  reflecting  on  something.  At  last  he 
turned  suddenly  to  me  : 

"  You  don't  know  her  at  all  1  " 

"  I  happened  to  see  her  this  morning  when  she  was  raging 
in  the  passage  at  Vassin's  ;  she  was  screaming  and  cursing 
you.  But  1  did  not  speak  to  her  and  I  know  nothing  about 
it,  and  just  now  I  met  her  at  the  gate.  No  doubt  she  is  that 
teacher  you  spoke  of  yesterday,  who  also  gives  lessons  in 
arithmetic." 

'  '■  Yes,  shp  is.     For  once  in  my  life  I  did  a  good  deed  and  .  .  . 
But  what's  the  matter  with  you  1  " 

''Here  is  this  letter,"  I  answered.  "I  don't  think  explana- 
tion necessary  :  it  comes  from  Kraft,  and  he  got  it  from  Andro- 
nikov.  You  will  understand  what's  in  it.  I  will  add  that  no 
one  but  me  in  the  whole  world  knows  about  that  letter,  for 
Ixjaft,  who  gave  me  that  letter  yesterday  just  as  I  was  leaving 
him,  has  shot  himself." 

\Vhi!c  I  was  speaking  with  breathless  haste  he  took  the  letter 
and,  holding  it  lightly  poised  in  his  left  hand,  watched  me 
attentively.  When  I  told  him  of  Kraft's  suicide  I  looked  at 
him  with  particular  attention  to  see  the  effect.  And  Avhat  did 
1  see  ?  Tiie  news  did  not  make  the  .slightest  imprcs.'ion  on  him. 
If  he  had  even  raised  an  eyebrow  !  On  the  contrary,  seeing 
that  I  had  paused,  he  drew  out  his  eyeglasses,  which  he  always 
had  about  him  hanging  on  a  black  ribbon,  carried  the  letter  to 
the  candle  and,  glancing  at  the  signature,  began  carefully  examin- 
ing it.  1  can't  express  liow  mortified  I  was  at  this  supercilious 
callousness.  He  must  have  known  Ivraft  very  well  :  it  was,  in 
any  case,  such  an  extraordinary  piece  of  news  !  Besides,  I 
naturall}-  desired  it  to  produce  an  effect.  Knowing  that  the 
letter  was  long,  I  turned,  after  waiting,  and  went  out.  My 
trunk  had  been  packed  long  ago,  I  had  only  to  stuff  a  few  things 
into  my  bag.  I  thought  of  my  mother  and  that  I  had  not  gone 
up  to  speak  to  her.     Ten  minutes  later,  when  I  had  finished 

156 


my  preparations  and  was  meaning  to  go  for  a  cab,  my  sister 
walked  into  my  attic. 

"  Here  are  your  sixty  roubles  ;  mother  sends  it  and  begs  you 
again  to  forgive  her  for  having  mentioned  it  to  Andrey  I'etro- 
vitch.  And  here's  twenty  roubles  besides.  You  gave  her  fifty 
yesterday  for  j'our  board  ;  mother  says  she  can't  take  more  than 
thirty  from  you  because  you  haven't  cost  fifty,  and  she  sends  you 
twenty  roubles  back." 

"  Well,  thanks,  if  she  is  telling  the  truth.  Good-Ьз'е,  sister, 
I'm  going." 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  " 

"  For  the  time  being  to  an  hotel,  to  escape  spending  the 
night  in  this  house.     Tell  mother  that  I  love  her." 

"  She  knows  that.  She  knows  that  you  love  Andrey  Petro- 
vitch  too.  I  wonder  30U  are  not  ashamed  of  having  brought 
that  \\Tretched  girl  hero  !  " 

"  I  swear  I  did  not  :   I  met  her  at  the  gate." 

"  No,  it  was  your  doing." 

*'  I  assure  you  .  .  ." 

"  Think  a  little,  ask  yourself,  and  you  will  see  that  you  were 
the  cause." 

"  I  was  only  very  pleased  that  Versilov  should  be  put  to 
shame.  Imagine,  he  had  a  baby  by  Lidya  Ahmakov  .  .  .  but 
what  am  I  telling  you  !  " 

"  He  ?  A  baby  ?  But  it  is  not  his  child  !  From  whom 
have  you  heard  such  a  falsehood  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  can  know  nothing  about  it." 

*'  Me  know  nothing  about  it  ?  But  I  used  to  nurse  the  baby 
in  Luga.  Listen,  brother  :  I've  seen  for  a  long  time  past  that 
you  knoAv  nothing  about  anything,  and  meanwhile  you  wound 
Andrey  Petrovitch — and  .  .  .  mother  too." 

"  If  he  is  right,  then  I  shall  be  to  blame.  That's  all,  and  I 
love  you  no  less  for  it.  What  makes  you  flush  like  that,  i-ister  ? 
And  more  still  now  !  Well,  never  mind,  anyway,  I  shall  challenge 
that  little  prince  for  the  slap  he  gave  Versilov  at  Ems.  If 
Versilov  Avas  in  the  right  as  regards  Mile.  Ahmakov,  so  much 
the  better." 

"  Brother,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

"  Luckily,  the  lawsuit's  over  now.  .  .  .  Well,  now  she  has 
turned  white  !  " 

"  But  the  prince  won't  fight  you,"  said  Liza,  looking  at  me 
with  a  wan  smile  in  spite  of  her  alarm. 

^57 


"  Then  I  will  put  him  to  shame  in  public.  What's  the  matter 
with  you,  Liza  1  " 

She  had  turned  so  pale  that  she  could  not  stand,  and  sank 
on  to  my  sofa. 

"  Liza,"  my  mother's  voice  called  from  below. 

She  recovered  herself  and  stood  up  ;  she  smiled  at  me  affec- 
tionately. 

"  Brother,  drop  this  fooUshness,  or  put  it  off  for  a  time  till 
you  know  about  ever  so  many  things  :  it's  awful  how  little 
you  understand." 

"  I  shall  remember,  Liza,  that  j^ou  turned  pale  when  you 
heard  I  was  going  to  fight  a  duel." 

"  Yes,  yes,  remember  that  too  !  "  she  said,  smiling  once  more 
at  parting,  and  she  went  downstairs. 

I  called  a  cab,  and  with  the  help  of  the  man  I  hauled  my  things 
out  of  the  lodge.  No  one  in  the  house  stopped  me  or  opposed 
my  going.  I  did  not  go  in  to  say  good-bye  to  my  mother  as 
I  did  not  want  to  meet  Versilov  again.  When  T  was  sitting  in 
the  cab  a  thought  flashed  upon  me  : 

"  To  Fontanka  by  Semyonovsky  Bridge,"  I  told  the  man,  and 
went  back  to  Vassin's. 


S 

It  suddenly  struck  me  that  Vassin  would  know  already  about 
Kraft,  and  perhaps  know  a  hundred  times  more  than  I  did  ; 
and  so  it  proved  to  be.  Vassin  immediately  informed  me  of 
all  the  facts  with  great  precision  but  with  no  great  warmth  ; 
I  concluded  that  he  was  very  tired,  and  so  indeed  he  was.  He 
had  been  at  Kraft's  himself  in  the  morning.  Kraft  had  shot 
himself  with  a  revolver  (that  same  revolver)  after  dark,  as  was 
shown  by  his  diary.  The  last  entry  in  the  diary  was  made  just 
before  the  fatal  shot,  and  in  it  he  mentioned  that  he  was  writing 
almost  in  the  dark  and  hardly  able  to  distinguish  the  letters, 
that  he  did  not  want  to  light  a  candle  for  fear  that  it  should  set 
fire  to  something  when  he  was  dead.  "  And  I  don't  want  to 
light  it  and  then,  before  shooting,  put  it  out  like  my  life,"  he 
added  strangely,  almost  the  last  words.  This  diary  he  had 
begtm  three  days  before  his  death,  immediately  on  his  return 
to  Petersburg,  before  his  visit  to  Dergatchev's.  After  I  had 
gone  away  he  had  written  something  in  it  every  quarter  of  an 
hour ;    the  last  three  or  four  entries  were  made  at  intervab 

158 


of  five  minutes.  I  expressed  aloud  my  surprise  that  though 
Vassin  had  had  this  diary  so  long  in  his  hands  (it  had  been  given 
him  to  read),  he  had  not  made  a  copy  of  it,  especially  as  it  was 
not  more  than  a  sheet  or  so  and  all  the  entries  were  short.  "  You 
might  at  least  have  copied  the  last  page  !  "  Vassin  observed 
with  a  smile  that  he  remembered  it  as  it  was  ;  moreover,  that 
the  entries  were  quite  disconnected,  about  anything  that  came 
into  his  mind.  I  was  about  to  protest  that  this  was  just  what 
was  precious  in  this  case,  but  without  going  into  that  I  began 
instead  to  insist  on  his  recalling  some  of  it,  and  he  did  recall  a 
few  sentences — for  instance,  an  hour  before  he  shot  himself, 
"  That  he  was  chilly,"  "  That  he  thought  of  drinking  a  glass  of 
wine  to  warm  himself,  but  had  been  deterred  by  the  idea  that 
it  might  cause  an  hicrease  in  the  flow  of  blood."  "  It  was  almost 
all  that  sort  of  thing,"  Vassin  remarked  in  conclusion. 

"  And  3"ou  call  that  nonsense  !  "  I  cried. 

"  And  when  did  I  call  it  nonsense  ?  I  simply  did  not  copy 
it.  But  though  it's  not  nonsense,  the  diary  certainly  is  some- 
what ordinary,  or  rather,  natural — that  is,  it's  just  what  it's 
bound  to  be  in  such  circumstances.  ..." 

"  But  the  last  thoughts,  the  last  thoughts  !  " 

"  The  last  thoughts  sometimes  are  extremely  insignificant. 
One  such  suicide  complained,  in  fact,  in  a  similar  diary  that  not 
one  lofty  idea  visited  him  at  that  important  hour,  nothing  but 
futile  and  petty  thoughts." 

"  And  that  he  was  chilly,  was  that  too  a  futile  thought  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  his  being  chilly,  or  the  thought  about  the 
blood  1  Besides,  it's  a  well-known  fact  that  very  many  people 
who  are  capable  of  contemplating  their  approaching  death, 
whether  it's  by  their  own  hand  or  not,  frequently  show  a  tendency 
to  worry  themselves  about  leaving  their  body  in  a  presentable 
condition.  It  was  from  that  point  of  view  that  Kraft  was 
anxious  about  the  blood." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  that  is  a  well-known  fact  ...  or 
whether  that  is  so,"  I  muttered  ;  "  but  I  am  surprised  that  you 
consider  all  that  natural,  and  yet  it's  not  long  since  Kraft  was 
speaking,  feeling,  sitting  among  us.  Surely  you  must  feel  sorry 
for  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I'm  sorry,  and  that's  quite  a  different  thing  ; 
but,  in  any  case,  ELraft  himself  conceived  of  his  death  as  a  logical 
deduction.  It  turns  out  that  all  that  was  said  about  him  yester- 
day at  Dergatchev's  was  true.    He  left  behind  him  a  manuscript 

159 


book  full  of  abtruse  theories,  proving  by  phrenology,  by  cranio- 
logy,  and  even  by  mathematics,  that  the  Russians  are  a  second- 
rate  race,  and  that  therefore,  since  he  was  a  Russian,  life  was 
not  worth  living  for  him.  What  is  more  striking  about  it,  if 
you  like,  is  that  it  shows  one  can  make  any  logical  deduction  one 
pleases  ;  but  to  shoot  oneself  in  consequence  of  a  deduction  does 
not  always  follow." 

"  At  least  one  must  do  credit  to  his  strength  of  will." 

"  Possibly  not  that  only,"  Vassin  observed  evasively  ;  it  was 
clear  that  he  assumed  stupidity  or  weakness  of  intellect.  All 
this  irritated  me. 

"  You  talked  of  feeling  yourself  yesterday,  Vassin." 

"  I  don't  gainsay  it  now  ;  but  what  has  happened  betrays 
something  in  him  so  crudely  mistaken  that,  if  one  looks  at  it 
critically,  it  checks  one's  compassion  in  spite  of  oneself," 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  guessed  yesterday  from  your  eyes  that 
you  would  disapprove  of  Kraft,  and  I  resolved  not  to  ask  your 
opinion,  that  I  might  not  hear  evil  of  him  ;  but  you  have  given 
it  of  yourself,  and  I  am  forced  to  agree  with  you  in  spite  of 
myself  ;  and  yet  I  am  annoyed  with  you  !  I  am  sorry  for 
Kraft." 

"  Do  you  know  we  are  going  rather  far  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  interrupted,  "  but  it's  a  comfort,  anyway,  that 
in  such  cases  those  who  are  left  alive,  the  critics  of  the  dead, 
can  say  of  themselves  :  '  Though  a  man  has  shot  himself  who 
was  worthy  of  all  compassion  and  indulgence,  we  are  left,  at 
any  rate,  and  so  there's  no  great  need  to  grieve.'  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,  from  that  point  of  view.  .  .  .  Oh,  but  I 
believe  you  are  joking,  and  very  cleverly  !  I  always  drink  tea 
at  this  time,  and  am  just  going  to  ask  for  it  :  you  will  join  me, 
perhaps." 

And  he  went  out,  with  a  glance  at  my  trunk  and  bag. 

I  had  wanted  to  say  something  rather  spiteful,  to  retaliate 
for  his  judgment  of  Kxaft,  and  I  had  succeeded  in  saying  it, 
but  it  was  curious  that  he  had  taken  my  consoling  reflection  that 
"such  as  we  are  left"  as  meant  seriously.  But,  be  that  as  it 
may,  he  was,  anyway,  more  right  than  I  was  in  everything,  even 
in  his  feelings.  I  recognized  this  without  the  slightest  dissatis- 
faction, but  I  felt  distinctly  that  I  did  not  like  him. 

When  they  had  brought  in  the  tea  I  announced  that  I  was 
going  to  ask  for  his  hospitality  for  one  night  only,  and  if  this 
were  impossible  I  hoped  he  would  say  so,  and  I  would  go  to  an 

160 


hotel.  Then  I  briefly  explained  my  reasons,  simply  and  frankly 
stating  that  I  had  finally  quarrelled  with  Versilov,  without, 
however,  going  into  details.  Vassin  listened  attentively  but 
without  the  slightest  excitement.  As  a  rule  he  only  spoke  in 
reply  to  questions,  though  he  always  answered  with  ready 
courtesy  and  sufficient  detail.  I  said  nothing  at  all  about  the 
letter  concerning  which  I  had  come  to  ask  his  advice  in  the 
morning,  and  I  explained  that  I  had  looked  in  then  simply  to 
call  on  him.  Having  given  Versilov  my  word  that  no  one  else 
should  кполу  of  the  letter,  I  considered  I  had  no  right  to  speak 
of  it  to  апз'опе.  I  felt  it  for  some  reason  peculiarly  repugnant 
to  speak  of  certain  things  to  Vassin — of  some  things  and  not  of 
others  ;  I  succeeded,  for  instance,  in  interesting  him  in  my 
description  of  the  scenes  that  had  taken  place  that  morning  in 
the  passage,  in  the  next  room,  and  finally  at  Versilov's.  He 
listened  with  extreme  attention,  especially  to  what  I  told  him  of 
Stebelkov.  When  I  told  him  how  Stebclkov  asked  about 
Dergatchfcv  he  made  me  repeat  the  question  again,  and  seemed 
to  ponder  gravely  over  it,  though  he  did  laugh  in  the  end.  It 
suddenly  occurred  to  me  at  that  moment  that  nothing  could 
ever  have  disconcerted  Vassin  ;  I  remember,  hoAvever,  that 
this  idea  presented  itself  at  first  in  a  form  most  complimentary 
to  him. 

"  In  fact,  I  could  not  gather  much  from  what  ]\Г.  Stebelkov 
said,"  I  added  finally;  "he  talks  in  a  sort  of  muddle  .  .  .  and 
there  is  something,  as  it  were,  feather-headed  about  him.  .  .  ." 

Vassin  at  once  assumed  a  serious  air. 

"  He  certainly  has  no  gift  for  language,  but  he  sometimes 
manages  to  make  very  acute  observations  at  first  sight,  and 
in  fact  he  belongs  to  the  class  of  business  men,  men  of  practical 
aSairs,  rather  than  of  theoretical  ideas ;  one  must  judge  them 
from  that  point  of  view.  .  .  ," 

It  was  exactly  what  I  had  imagined  him  saj'ing  that  morning. 

"  He  made  an  awful  row  next  door,  though,  and  goodness 
knows  how  it  might  have  ended." 

Of  the  inmates  of  the  next  room,  Vasfin  told  me  that  they 
had  been  living  there  about  three  weeks  and  had  come  from 
somewhere  in  the  provinces  ;  that  their  room  was  very  small, 
and  that  to  all  appearance  they  were  very  poor  ;  that  they 
stayed  in  and  seemed  to  be  expecting  something.  He  did  not 
know  the  young  woman  had  advertised  for  lessons,  but  he  had 
heard  that  Versilov  had  been  to  see  them  ;   it  had  happened  in 

i6i 


hie  absence,  but  the  landlady  had  told  him  of  it.  The  two  leuliee 
had  held  themiaelves  aloof  from  every  one,  even  from  the  land- 
lady. During  the  last  few  days  he  had  indeed  become  aware 
that  something  was  wrong  with  them,  but  there  had  been  no 
other  scenes  like  the  one  that  morning.  I  recall  all  that  was 
said  about  the  people  next  door  because  of  what  followed.  All 
this  time  there  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  next  room.  Vassin 
listened  with  marked  interest  when  I  told  him  that  Stebelkov 
had  said  he  must  talk  to  the  landlady  about  our  neighbours 
and  that  he  had  twice  repeated,  "  Ah  !  you  will  see  !  you  will 
see!" 

"  And  you  will  see,"  added  Vassin,  "  that  that  notion  of  his 
stands  for  something;  he. has  an  extraordinarily  keen  eye  for 
such  things." 

"  Why,  do  you  think  the  landlady  ought  to  be  advised  to 
turn  them  out  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  поъ  mean  that  they  should  be  turned  out  .  .  . 
simply  that  there  might  be  a  scandal  .  .  .  but  all  such  cases 
end  one  way  or  another.  .  .  .  Let's  drop  the  subject." 

As  for  Versilov's  visit  next  door,  he  asolutely  refused  to  give 
any  opinion. 

"  Aiiything  is  possible  :  a  man  feels  that  he  has  money  in 
his  pocket  .  .  .  but  he  may  very  Ukely  have  given  the  money 
from  charity ;  that  would  perhaps  be  in  accordance  with  Ыв 
traditions  and  his  inclinations." 

I  told  him  that  Stebelkov  had  chattered  that  morning  about 
"  a  baby." 

"  Stebelkov  is  absolutely  mistaken  about  that,"  Vassin 
brought  out  with  peculiar  emphasis  and  gravity  (I  remembered 
this  particularly).  "  Stebelkov  sometimes  puts  too  much  faith 
in  his  practical  common  sense,  and  so  is  in  too  great  a  hurry  to 
draw  conclusions  to  fit  in  with  his  logic,  which  is  often  very 
penetratiag  ;  and  all  the  while  the  actual  fact  may  be  far  more 
fantastic  and  siu-prising  when  one  considers  the  character  of 
the  persons  concerned  in  it.  So  it  has  been  in  this  case  ;  having 
a  partial  knowledge  of  the  affair,  he  concluded  the  child  belonged 
to  Versilov  ;  and  yet  the  child  is  not  Versilov's." 

I  pressed  him,  and,  to  my  great  amazement,  learned  from 
him  that  the  infant  in  question  was  the  child  of  Prince  Sergay 
Sokolsky.  Lidya  Ahmakov,  either  owing  to  her  illness  or  to 
some  fantastic  streak  in  her  character,  used  at  times  to  behave 
like  a  lunatic.    She  had  been  fascinated  by  the  prince  before 

162 


she  met  Versilov,  "  and  he  had  not  scrupled  to  accept  her  love," 
to  use  Vassin's  expression.  The  liaison  had  lasted  but  for  a 
moment ;  they  had  quarrelled,  as  we  know  already,  and  Lidj'a 
had  dismissed  the  prince,  "  at  which  the  latter  seems  to  have 
been  relieved."  "  She  was  a  very  strange  girl,"  added  Vassin ; 
"it  is  q\iite  possible  that  she  was  not  always  in  her  right  mind. 
But  when  he  went  away  to  Paris,  Prince  Sokobky  had  no  idea 
of  the  condition  in  which  he  had  left  his  victim,  he  did  not 
know  imtil  the  end,  until  his  return.  Versilov,  who  had  become 
a  friend  of  the  young  lady's,  offered  her  his  hand,  in  view  of  her 
situation  (of  which  it  appears  her  parents  had  no  suspicion  up 
to  the  end).  The  lovesick  damsel  was  overjoyed,  and  saw  in 
Versilov's  offer  "something  more  than  self-sacrifice,"  though 
that  too  she  appreciated.  "  Of  course,  though,  he  knew  how 
to  carry  it  through,"  Vassin  added.  "  The  baby  (a  girl)  was 
born  a  month  or  six  weeks  before  the  proper  time  ;  it  was  placed 
out  somewhere  in  Germany  but  afterwards  taken  back  by  Versilov 
and  is  now  somewhere  in  Russia — perhaps  in  Petersburg." 

"  And  the  phosphorus  matches  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that,"  Vassin  said  in  conclusion. 
"  Lidya  Ahmakov  died  a  fortnight  after  her  confinement :  what 
had  happened  I  don't  know.  Prince  Sokolsky,  who  had  only 
just  returned  from  Paris,  learned  there  was  a  child,  and  seems 
not  to  have  believed  at  first  that  it  was  his  child.  .  .  .  The 
whole  affair  has,  in  fact,  been  kept  secret  by  all  parties  up  till 
now." 

"  But  what  a  wretch  this  prince  must  be,"  I  cried  indignantly. 
"  What  a  way  to  treat  an  invalid  girl !  " 

"  She  was  not  so  much  of  an  invalid  then.  .  .  .  Besides,  she 
sent  him  away  herself.  ...  It  Ь  true,  perhaps,  that  he  was  in 
too  great  a  hurry  to  take  advantage  of  his  dismissal." 

"  You  justify  a  villain  like  that !  " 

"  No,  only  I  don't  call  him  a  villain.  There  is  a  great  deal  in 
it  besides  simple  villainy.     In  fact,  it's  quite  an  ordinary  thing." 

"  Tell  me,  Vassin,  did  you  know  him  intimately  ?  I  should 
particularly  value  your  opinion,  owing  to  a  circumstance  that 
touches  me  very  nearly." 

But  to  this  Vassin  replied  with  excessive  reserve.  He  knew 
the  prince,  but  he  was,  with  obvious  intention,  reticent  in  regard 
to  the  circumstances  under  which  he  had  made  his  acquaintance. 
He  added  further  that  one  had  to  make  allowances  for  Prince 
Sokolsky's  character.     "  He  is  impressionable  and  full  of  honour- 

163 


able  impulses,  but  has  neither  good  sense  nor  strength  of  will 
enough  to  control  his  desires.  He  is  not  a  well-educated  man  ; 
many  ideas  and  situations  are  beyond  his  power  to  deal  with, 
and  yet  he  rushes  upon  them.  He  will,  for  example,  persist  in 
declaring,  '  I  am  a  prince  and  descended  from  Rurik  ;  but 
there's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  be  a  shoemaker  if  I  have  to 
earn  my  living  ;  I  am  not  fit  for  any  other  calling.  Above  the 
shop  there  shall  be,  "  Prince  So-and-so,  Bootmaker  " — it  would 
really  be  a  credit.'  He  would  say  that  and  act  upon  it,  too, 
that's  what  matters,"'  added  Vassin  ;  "  and  yet  it's  not  the 
result  of  strong  conviction,  but  only  the  most  shallow  impression- 
ability. Afterwards  repentance  invariably  follows,  and  then 
he  is  always  ready  to  rush  to  an  opposite  extreme  ;  his  whole 
life  is  passed  like  that.  Many  people  come  to  grief  in  that  way 
nowadays,"  Vassin  ended,  "  just  because  they  are  born  in  this 
ago." 

I  could  not  help  pondering  on  his  Avords. 

"  Is  it  true  that  he  was  turned  out  of  his  regiment  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he  was  turned  out,  but  he  certainl}- 
did  leave  the  regiment  through  some  unpleasant  scandal.  I 
suppose  you  know  that  he  spent  two  or  three  months  last  autumn 
at  Luga." 

"  I  ...  I  know  that  you  were  staying  at  Luga  at  that  time." 

"  Yes,  I  was  there  too  for  a  time.  Prince  Sokolsky  knew 
Lizaveta.  Makarovna  too." 

"  Oh  !  I  didn't  know.  I  must  confess  I've  had  so  little  talk 
with  my  sister.  .  .  .  But  surely  he  was  not  received  in  my 
mother's  house  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  he  was  only  slightly  acquainted  with  them  through 
other  friends." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure,  what  did  my  sister  tell  me  about  that  child  ? 
Was  the  baby  at  Luga  ?  " 

"  For  a  while." 

"  And  where  is  it  now." 

"  No  doubt  in  Petersburg.'* 

"  I  never  will  believe,"  I  cried  in  great  emotion,  "  that  my 
mother  took  any  part  whatever  in  this  scandal  with  this  Lidya  !  " 

"  Apart  from  these  intrigues,  of  which  I  can't  undertake  to 
give  the  details,  there  was  nothing  particularly  repreherisible  in 
Versilov's  part  of  the  affair,"  observed  Vassin,  with  a  condescend- 
ing smile.  I  fancy  he  began  to  feel  it  difficult  to  talk  to  me, 
but  he  tried  not  to  betray  it. 

164 


"  I  will  never,  never  believe,"  I  cried  again,  "  that  a  woman 
Could  give  up  her  husband  to  another  woman  ;  that  I  won't 
believe  !  .  .  .  I  swear  my  mother  had  no  hand  in  it !  " 

"  It  seems,  though,  she  did  not  oppose  it." 

"  In  her  place,  from  pride  I  should  not  have  opposed  it." 

"  For  my  part,  I  absolutely  refuse  to  judge  in  such  a  matter," 
was  Vassin's  final  comment. 

Perhaps,  for  all  his  intelligence,  Vassin  really  knew  nothing 
about  women,  so  that  a  whole  сз'с1е  of  ideas  and  phenomena 
remained  unknown  to  him.  I  sank  into  silence.  Vassin  had 
a  temporary  berth  in  some  company's  office,  and  I  knew  that 
he  used  to  bring  work  home  with  him.  When  I  pressed  him, 
he  admitted  that  he  had  work  to  do  now,  accounts  to  make  up, 
and  I  begged  him  warmly  not  to  stand  on  ceremony  with  me. 
I  believe  this  pleased  him  ;  but  before  bringing  out  his  papers 
he  made  up  a  bed  for  me  on  the  sofa.  At  first  he  offered  me  his 
bed,  but  when  I  refused  it  I  think  that  too  gratified  him.  He 
got  pillows  and  a  quilt  from  the  landlady.  Vassin  was  extremely 
polite  and  amiable,  but  it  made  me  feel  uncomfortable,  seeing 
him  take  so  much  trouble  on  my  account.  I  had  Liked  it  better 
when,  three  weeks  before,  I  had  spent  a  night  at  Efims.  I 
remember  how  he  concocted  a  bed  for  me,  also  on  a  sofa,  and 
without  the  knowledge  of  his  aunt,  who  would,  he  thought,  for 
some  reason,  have  been  vexed  if  she  had  known  he  had  a  school- 
fellow staying  the  night  with  him.  We  laughed  a  great  deal. 
A  shirt  did  duty  for  a  sheet  and  an  overcoat  for  a  pillow.  I 
remember  how  Efim,  when  he  had  completed  the  work,  patted 
the  sofa  tenderly  and  said  to  me  : 

"  Vous  dorrn-ircz  comme  un  pelit  roi." 

And  his  foolish  mirth  and  the  French  phrase,  as  incongruous 
in  his  mouth  as  a  saddle  on  a  cow,  made  me  enjoy  sleeping 
at  that  jocose  youth's.  As  for  Vassin,  I  felt  greatly  relieved 
when  he  sat  down  to  work  with  his  back  to  me.  I  stretched 
myself  on  the  sofa  and,  looking  at  his  back,  pondered  deeply 
on  many  things. 


And  indeed  I  had  plenty  to  think  about.  Everj^hing  seemed 
split  up  and  in  confusion  in  my  soul,  but  certain  sensations  stood 
out  very  definitely,  though  from  their  very  abundance  I  was  not 
dominated  by  any  one  of  them.     They  all  came,  as  it  were,  in 

165 


disconnected  flashes,  one  after  another,  and  I  had  no  inclination, 
I  remember,  to  dwell  on  any  one  of  my  impressions  or  to  establish 
any  sequence  among  them.  Even  the  idea  of  Kjaft  had  imper- 
ceptibly passed  into  the  background.  What  troubled  me  most 
of  all  was  my  own  position,  that  here  I  had  "  broken  off,"  and 
that  my  tnmk  was  with  me,  and  I  was  not  at  home,  and  was 
beginning  everything  new.  It  was  as  though  all  my  previous 
intentions  and  preparations  had  been  in  play,  "  and  only  now — 
and  above  all  so  suddenly — everything  was  beginning  in  reality." 
This  idea  gave  me  courage  and  cheered  me  up,  in  spite  of  the 
confusion  within  me  over  many  things. 

But  .  .  .  but  I  had  other  sensations  ;  one  of  them  was  trying 
to  dominate  the  others  and  to  take  possession  of  my  soul,  and, 
strange  to  say,  this  sensation  too  gave  me  courage  and  seemed 
to  hold  out  prospects  of  something  very  gay.  Yet  this  feeling 
had  begun  with  fear :  I  had  been  afraid  for  a  long  time,  from 
the  very  hour  that  in  my  heat  I  had,  unawares,  said  too  much 
to  Mme.  Ahmakov  about  the  "  document."  "  Yes,  I  said  too 
much,"  I  thought,  "and  maybe  they  will  guess  something  .  .  . 
it's  a  pity  !  No  doubt  they  will  give  me  no  peace  if  they  begin 
to  suspect,  but  ...  let  them  !  Very  likely  they  won't  find 
me,  I'll  hide  !  And  what  if  they  really  do  run  after  me  .  .  .  ?  " 
And  then  I  began  recalling  minutely  in  every  point,  and  with 
growing  satisfaction,  how  I  had  stood  up  before  Katerina  Niko- 
laevna  and  how  her  insolent  but  extremely  astonished  eyes  had 
gazed  at  me  obstinately.  Going  away,  I  had  left  her  in  the 
same  amazement,  I  remembered  ;  "  her  eyes  are  not  quite 
black,  though  .  .  .  it's  only  her  eyelashes  that  are  so  black, 
and  that's  what  makes  her  eyes  look  so  dark.  .  .  ." 

And  suddenly,  I  remember,  I  felt  horribly  disgusted  at  the 
recollection  .  .  .  and  sick  and  angry  both  at  them  and  at 
myself.  I  reproached  myself  and  tried  to  think  of  something 
else.  "  Why  did  I  not  feel  the  slightest  indignation  with  Versilov 
for  the  incident  with  the  girl  in  the  next  room  ?  "  it  suddenly 
occurred  to  me  to  wonder.  For  my  part,  I  was  firmly  convinced 
that  he  had  had  amorous  designs  and  had  come  to  amuse  himself, 
but  I  was  not  particularly  indignant  at  this.  It  seemed  to  me, 
indeed,  that  one  could  not  have  conceived  of  his  behaving 
j^erently,  and  although  I  reaUy  was  glad  he  had  been  put  to 
shame,  yet  I  did  not  blame  him.  It  was  not  that  which  seemed 
maportant  to  me ;  what  was  important  was  the  exasperation 
with  which  he  had  looked  at  me  when  I  came  in  with  the 

i66 


girl,  the  way  he  bad  looked  at  me  as  he  had  never  done 
before. 

"  At  last  he  has  looked  at  me  seriously,"  I  thought,  mth  a 
flutter  at  my  heart.  Ah,  if  I  had  not  loved  him  I  should  not 
have  been  so  overjoyed  at  his  hatred  ! 

At  last  I  began  to  doze  and  fell  asleep.  I  can  just  remember 
being  aware  of  Vassin's  finishing  his  work,  tidying  away  his 
things,  looking  carefully  towards  my  sofa,  undressing  and 
putting  out  the  light. 

It  was  one  o'clock  at  night. 


Almost  exactly  two  hours  later  I  woke  up  with  a  start  and, 
jumping  up  as  though  I  were  frantic,  sat  on  my  sofa.  From  the 
next  room  there  arose  fearful  lamentations,  screams,  and  sounds 
of  weeping.  Our  door  was  wide  open,  and  people  were  shouting 
and  running  to  and  fro  in  the  lighted  passage.  I  was  on  the 
point  of  calling  to  Vassin,  but  I  realized  that  he  was  no  longer 
in  his  bed.  I  did  not  know  where  to  find  the  matches  ;  I  fumbled 
for  my  clothes  and  began  hurriedly  dressing  in  the  dark.  Evi- 
dently the  landlady,  and  perhaps  the  lodgers,  had  run  into 
the  next  room.  Only  one  voice  was  wailing,  however,  that 
of  the  older  woman :  the  youthful  voice  I  had  heard  the  day 
before,  and  so  well  remembered,  was  quite  silent ;  I  remember 
that  this  was  the  first  thought  that  came  into  my  mind.  Before 
I  had  finished  dressing  Vassin  came  in  hurriedly.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  the  matches  instantly  and  lighted  up  the  room.  He 
was  in  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  and  he  immediately 
proceeded  to  dress. 

"  What's  happened  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  A  most  unpleasant  and  bothersome  business,"  he  answered 
almost  angrily  ;  "  that  young  girl  you  were  telling  me  about 
has  hanged  herself  in  the  next  room." 

I  could  not  help  crying  out.  I  cannot  describe  the  pang  at 
my  heart !  We  ran  out  into  the  passage.  I  must  own  I  did 
not  dare  go  into  the  room,  and  only  saw  the  unhappy  girl  after- 
wards, when  she  had  been  taken  down,  and  even  then,  indeed, 
at  some  distance  and  covered  with  a  sheet,  beyond  which  the 
two  narrow  soles  of  her  shoes  stood  out.  So  I  did  not  for  some 
reason  look  into  her  face.  The  mother  wa§  in  a  fearful  condition  ; 
our  landlady  was  with  her — not,   however,   greatly  alarmed. 

167 


All  the  lodgers  in  the  flat  had  gathered  round.  There  were  only 
three  of  them  :  an  elderly  naval  man,  always  very  peevish  and 
exacting,  though  on  this  occasion  he  was  quite  quiet,  and  an 
elderly  couple,  respectable  people  of  the  small  functionary  class 
who  came  from  the  province  of  Tver.  I  won't  attempt  to 
describe  the  rest  of  that  night,  the  general  commotion  and  after- 
wards the  visit  of  the  poUce.  Literally  till  daylight  I  kept  shudder- 
ing and  felt  it  my  duty  to  sit  up,  though  I  did  absolutely  nothing. 
And  indeed  every  one  had  an  extraordinarily  cheery  air,  as 
though  they  had  been  particularly  cheered  by  something. 
Vassiii  went  off  somewhere.  The  landlady  turned  out  to  be 
rather  a  decent  woman,  much  better  than  I  had  imagined  her. 
I  persuaded  her  (and  I  put  it  down  to  my  credit)  that  the  mother 
must  not  be  left  alone  with  the  davighter's  corpse,  and  that  she 
must,  at  least  until  to-morrow,  take  her  into  her  room.  The 
landlady  at  once  agreed,  and  though  the  mother  struggled  and 
shed  tears,  refusing  to  leave  her  daughter,  she  did  at  last  move 
into  the  landlady's  room,  and  the  latter  immediately  ordered 
the  samovar  to  be  brought.  After  that  the  lodgers  went  back 
to  -their  rooms  and  shut  the  doors,  but  nothing  would  have 
induced  me  to  go  to  bed,  and  I  remained  a  long  time  with  the 
landlady,  who  was  positively  relieved  at  the  presence  of  a  third 
person,  and  especially  one  who  was  able  to  give  some  information 
bearing  on  the  case. 

The  samovar  was  most  welcome,  and  in  fact  the  samovar  is 
the  mast  essential  thing  in  Russia,  especially  at  times  of  particu- 
larly awful,  sudden,  and  eccentric  catastrophes  and  misfortunes ; 
even  the  mother  was  induced  to  drink  two  cups — though,  of 
course,  only  with  much  urging  and  almost  compulsion.  And 
yet  I  can  honestly  say  that  I  have  never  seen  a  bitterer  and 
more  genuine  sorrow  that  that  poor  mother's. 

After  the  first  paroxysms  of  sobbing  and  hysterics  she  was 
actually  eager  to  talk,  and  I  listened  greedily  to  her  story. 
There  are  unhapp}'  people,  especially  women,  who  must  be 
allowed  to  talk  as  freely  as  possible  when  they  are  in  trouble. 
Moreover,  there  are  characters  too,  blurred  so  to  speak  by 
sorrow,  who  all  their  life  long  have  sufiFered,  have  suffered  terribly 
much  both  of  great  sorrow  and  of  continual  worry  about  trifles, 
and  who  can  never  be  surprised  by  anything,  by  any  sort  of 
sudden  calamity,  and  who,  above  all,  never,  even  beside  the 
coffin  of  their  dearest,  can  forget  the  rules  of  behaviour  for 
propitiating  people,  v.hich  they  have  learnt  by  bitter  experience. 

i68 


And  I  don't  criticize  it :  there  is  neither  the  vulgarity  of  egoism 
nor  the  insolence  of  culture  in  this  ;  there  is  perhaps  more 
genuine  goodness  to  be  found  in  these  simple  hearts  than  in 
heroines  of  the  loftiest  demeanour,  but  the  long  habit  of  humilia- 
tion, the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  the  years  of  timid  anxiety 
and  oppression,  leave  their  mark  at  last.  The  poor  girl  who 
had  died  by  her  own  hand  was  not  like  her  mother  in  this. 
They  were  alike  in  face,  however,  though  the  dead  girl  was 
decidedly  good-looking.  The  mother  was  not  a  very  old  woman, 
fifty  at  the  most ;  she,  too,  was  fair,  but  her  eyes  were  sunken, 
her  cheeks  were  hollow,  and  she  had  large  yellow,  uneven  teeth. 
And  indeed  everything  had  a  tinge  of  yellowness  :  the  skin  on 
her  hands  and  face  was  like  parchment ;  her  dark  dress  had 
groMSTi  yellow  with  age,  and  the  nail  on  the  forefinger  of  her 
right  hand  *  had  been,  I  don't  know  why,  carefully  and  tidily 
plastered  up  with  yellow  wax. 

The  poor  woman's  story  was   in  parts   quite  disconnected. 
I  will  tell  it  as  I  understood  it  and  as  I  remember  it. 


They  had  come  from  Moscow.     She  had  long  been  a  widow — 

"  the  widow  of  an  official,  however."     Her  husbar.d  had  been 

in  the  government  service,  but  had  left  them  practically  nothing 

"  except  a  pension  of  two  hundred  roubles."     But  what  are 

two  hundred  roubles  ?     01з'а  grew  up,  however,  and  went  to 

the  high  school — "  and  how  well  she  did,  how  good  she  was 

at  her  lessons  ;    she  won  the  silver  medal  when  she  left  "  (at 

this  point,  of  course,  prolonged  weeping).     The  deceased  husband 

had  lost  a  fortune  of  nearly  four  thousand  roubles,  invested  with 

a  merchant  here  in  Petersburg.     This  merchant  had  suddenly 

grown  rich  again.     "  I  liad  papers,  I  asked  advice  ;   I  was  told, 

'  Try,  and  you  will  certainly  get  it.  .  .  .'  I  wrote,  the  merchant 

agreed  :    '  Go  yourself,'  I  was  told.     Olya  and  I  set  off,  and 

arrived  a  month  ago.     Our  means  were  small  :    we  took  this 

room  because  it  was  the  smallest  of  all  and,  as  we  could  see 

ourselves,   in  a  respectable  house,   and  that's   what  mattered 

most  to  us.     We  were  inexperienced  women  ;    every  one  takes 

advantage  of  us.     Well,   we  paid  you  for  one  month.     With 

*  This  mu9t  be  an  error  on  Dostoevsky's  part.  Russian  women  some- 
times plaster  with  мах  the  forefinger  of  the  left  hand  to  protect  it  from 
being  pricked  in  sewing. — Translator's  Note. 

169 


one  thing  and  another,  Petersburg  is  ruinous.     Our  merchant 
gives  us  a  flat  refusal — '  I  don't  know  you  or  anything  about 
you  '  ;  and  the  paper  I  had  was  not  regular,  I  knew  that.     Then 
I  was  advised  to  go  to  a  celebrated  lawyer  ;  he  was  a  professor, 
not  simply  a  lawyer  but  an  expert,  so  he'd  be  sure  to  tell  me  what 
to  do.     I  took  bim  my  last  fifteen  roubles.    The  lawyer  came 
out  to  me,  and  he  did  not  listen  to  me  for  three  minutes  :    *  I 
see,'  says  he,  '  I  know,'  says  he.     *  If  the  merchant  wants  to,' 
says  he,  *  he'll  pay  the  money  ;  if  he  doesn't  want  to,  he  won't, 
and  if  you  take  proceedings  you  may  have  to  pay  yourself, 
perhaps  ;  you  had  far  better  come  to  terms.'     He  made  a  joke, 
then,  out  of  the  Gospel :    *  Make  peace,'  said  he,  *  while  your 
enemy  is  in  the  way  with  you,  lest  you  pay  to  the  uttermost 
farthing.      He  laughed  as  he  saw  me  out.     My  fifteen  roubles 
were  wasted  !     I  came  back  to  Olya  ;  we  sat  facing  one  another. 
I  began  crying.     Olya  did  not  cry  ;    she  sat  there,  proud  and 
indignant.     She  has  always  been  like  that  with  me  ;  all  her  life, 
even  when  she  was  tiny,  she  was  never  one  to  moan,  she  was 
never  one  to  cry,  but  she  would  sit  and  look  fierce  ;   it  used  to 
make  me  creep  to  look  at  heri     And — would  you  believe  it  ? — 
I  was  afraid  of  her,  I  was  really  quite  afraid  of  her  ;  I've  been  so 
for  a  long  time  past.     I  often  wanted  to  grieve,  but  I  did  not 
dare  before  her.     I  went  to  the  merchant  for  the  last  time. 
I  cried  before  him  freely  :  he  said  it  was  all  right,  and  would  not 
even  listen.     Meanwhile  I  must  confess  that,  not  having  reckoned 
on  being  here  for  so  long,  we  had  been  for  some  time  without  a 
penny.     I  began  taking  our  clothes  one  by  one  to  the  pawn- 
broker's ;    we  have  been  living  on  what  we  have  pawned.     I 
stripped  myself  of  everything  ;    she  gave  me  the  last  of  her 
linen,  and  I  cried  bitterly  at  taking  it.     She  stamped,  then 
she  jumped  up  and  ran  off  to  the  merchant  herself.     He  was  a 
widower ;    he  talked  to  her.     '  Come  at  five  o'clock  the  day 
after  to-morrow,'  says  he,  '  perhaps  I  shall  have  something  to 
say  to  you.'     She  came  home  quite  gay  :  *  He  says  he  may  have 
something  to  say  to  me.'     Well,  I  was  pleased  too,  but  yet  1 
somehow  felt  a  sort  of    chill  at  my  heart.     '  Something  will 
come  of  it,'  I  thought,  but  I  did  not  dare  to  question  her.     Two 
days  later  she  came  back  from  the  merchant's,  pale  and  trembling 
all  over,  and  threw  herself  on  her  bed.     I  saw  what  it  meant, 
and  did  not  dare  to  question  her.     And — would  you  believe  it  ? — 
the  villain  had  offered  her  fifteen  roubles.     '  If  I  find  you  pure 
and  virtuous  I'll  hand  you  over  another  forty.'     He  said  that 

170 


to  her  face — he  wasn't  ashamed  to.  At  that  she  flew  at  him, 
so  she  told  me  ;  he  thrust  her  out,  and  even  locked  himself  in 
the  next  room.  And  meanwhile  I  must  confess,  to  tell  the 
truth,  we  had  nothing  to  eat.  We  brought  out  a  jacket  Uned 
with  hare-fur  ;  we  sold  it.  She  went  to  a  newspaper  and  put  in 
an  advertisement  at  once  :  she  offered  lessons  in  all  subjects 
and  in  arithmetic.  *  If  they'll  only  pay  thirty  kopecks,'  she 
said.  And  in  the  end  I  began  to  be  really  alarmed  at  her : 
she  would  sit  for  hours  at  the  window  without  saying  a  word, 
staring  at  the  roof  of  the  house  opposite,  and  then  she  woxild 
suddenly  cry  out,  '  If  I  could  only  wash  or  dig  ! '  She  would 
say  one  sentence  Uke  that  and  stamp  her  foot.  And  there  was 
no  one  we  knew  here,  no  one  we  could  go  to  :  I  wondered  what 
would  become  of  us.  And  all  the  while  I  was  afraid  to  talk 
to  her.  One  day  she  fell  asleep  in  the  daytime.  She  waked 
up,  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  at  me  ;  I  was  sitting  on  the  box, 
and  I  was  looking  at  her  too.  She  got  up,  came  to  me  without 
saying  a  word,  and  threw  her  arms  round  me.  And  we  could 
not  help  crying,  both  of  us  ;  we  sat  crying  and  clinging  to  each 
other.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  I  had  seen  her  like  that. 
And  just  as  we  were  sitting  like  that,  your  Nastasya  came  in 
and  said,  '  There's  a  lady  inquiring  for  you.'  This  was  only 
four  days  ago.  The  lady  came  in ;  we  saw  she  was  very  well 
dressed,  though  she  spoke  Russian,  it  seemed  to  me,  with  a 
German  accent.  '  You  advertised  that  you  give  lessons,'  she 
said.  We  were  so  delighted  then,  we  made  her  sit  down.  She 
laughed  in  such  a  friendly  way  :    *  It's  not  for  me,'  she  said, 

*  but  my  niece  has  small  children  ;  and  if  it  suits  you,  come  to 
us,  and  we  will  make  arrangements.'  She  gave  an  address,  a 
flat  in  Voznessensky  Street.  She  went  away.  Dear  Olya  set 
off  the  same  day  ;  she  flew  there.  She  came  back  two  hours 
later  ;  she  was  in  hysterics,  in  convulsions.  She  told  me  after- 
wards :  *  I  asked  the  porter  where  flat  No.  so-and-so  was.' 
The  porter  looked  at  her  and  said,  '  And  what  do  you  want  to 
go  to  that  flat  for  ?  '  He  said  that  so  strangely  that  it  might 
have  made  one  suspicious,  but  she  was  so  self-willed,  poor 
darling,  so  impatient,  she  could  not  bear  impertinent  questions. 

*  Go  along,  then,'  he  said,  and  he  pointed  up  the  stairs  to  her 
and  went  back  himself  to  his  little  room.  And  what  do  you 
think  !  She  went  in,  asked  for  the  lady,  and  on  all  sides  women 
ran  up  to  her  at  once — horrid  creatures,  rouged  ;  they  rushed 
at  her,  laughing.     '  Please  come  in,  please  come  in,'  they  cried  ; 

171 


they  dragged  her  in.  Some  one  was  playing  the  piano.  '  I 
tried  to  get  away  from  them,''  she  said,  '  but  they  would  not  let 
me  go.'  She  was  frightened,  her  legs  gave  way  under  her. 
They  simply  would  not  let  her  go  ;  they  talked  to  her  coaxingly,  - 
they  persuaded  her,  they  uncorked  a  bottle  of  porter,  they 
pressed  it  on  her.  She  jumped  up  trembling,  screamed  at  the 
top  of  her  voice  '  Let  me  go,  let  me  go  ! '  She  rushed  to  the 
door  ;  they  held  the  door,  she  shrieked.  Then  the  one  who 
had  been  to  see  us  the  day  before  ran  up  and  slapped  my  Olya 
twice  in  the  face  and  pushed  her  out  of  the  door  :  '  You  don't 
deserve  to  be  in  a  respectable  house,  you  skinny  slut  !  '  And 
another  shouted  after  her  on  the  stairs  :  *  You  came  of  yourself 
to  beg  of  us  because  you  have  nothing  to  eat,  but  we  won't  look 
at  such  an  ugly  fright  ! '  All  that  night  she  lay  in  a  fever  and 
delirious  and  in  the  morning  her  eyes  glittered  ;  she  got  up  and 
walked  about.  *  Justice,'  she  cried,  '  she  must  be  brought  to 
justice  ! '  I  said  nothing,  but  I  thought,  '  If  you  brought  her 
up  how  could  we  prove  it  ?  '  She  walked  about  with  set  lips, 
wringing  her  hands  and  tears  streaming  down  her  face.  And 
her  whole  face  seemed  darkened  from  that  time  up  to  the  very 
end.  On  the  third  day  she  seemed  better  ;  she  was  quiet  and 
seemsd  calmer.  And  then  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
M.  Versilov  came  to  us.  And  I  must  say  I  can't  understand, 
even  now,  how  Olya,  who  was  always  so  mistrustful,  was  ready 
to  listen  to  him  almost  at  the  first  word.  What  attracted  us 
both  more  than  anything  л^  as  that  he  had  such  a  grave,  almost 
stern  air  ;  he  spoke  gently,  impressively,  and  so  politely — more 
than  politely,  respectfully  even — and  yet  at  the  same  time 
he  showed  no  sign  of  trying  to  make  up  to  us  :  it  was  plain 
to  see  he  had  come  with  a  pure  heart.  '  I  read  your  advertise- 
ment in  the  paper,'  said  he.  *  You  did  not  word  it  suitably, 
madam,  and  you  may  damage  your  prospects  by  that.'  And 
he  began  explaining — I  must  own  I  did  not  understand — some- 
thing about  arithmetic,  but  I  saw  that  Olya  flushed  and  seemed 
to  brighten  up  altogether.  She  listened  and  talked  readily 
(and,  to  be  sure,  he  must  be  a  clever  man  1)  ;  I  heard  her  even 
thank  him.  He  questioned  her  so  minutely  about  everything, 
and  it  seemed  that  he  had  lived  a  long  time  in  Moscow,  and  it 
turned  out  that  he  кпелу  the  head  mistress  of  the  high  school. 
'  I  will  be  sure  to  find  you  lessons,'  said  he,  '  for  I  know  a  great 
many  people  here,  and  I  can,  in  fact,  apply  to  many  influential 
people,  so  that  if  you  would  prefer  a  permanent  situation  луе 

172 


might  look  out  for  that.  .  .  .  Meanwhile/  said  he,  '  forgive  me 
one  direct  question  :  can  I  be  of  some  use  to  you  at  once  ?  It 
will  be  3'our  doing  me  a  favour,  not  m}'  doing  you  one,'  said  he, 
*  if  you  will  allow  me  to  be  of  use  to  yoti  in  any  Avay.  Let  it 
be  a  loan,'  said  he,  '  and  as  soon  as  you  have  a  situation,  in  a 
very  short  time,  you  will  be  able  to  rajmy  ma.  Believe  me,  on 
my  honour,'  said  he,  '  if  ever  I  were  to  come  to  poverty  and  you 
had  plenty  of  everything  I  would  come  straight  to  you  for  some 
httle  help.  I  would  send  my  wife  and  daughter  '  ...  at  least, 
I  don't  remember  all  his  words,  only  I  was  moved  to  tears,  for 
I  saw  that  Olya's  lips  were  trembling  with  gratitude  too.  '  If  I 
take  it,'  she  answered  him,  '  it  is  because  I  trust  an  honourable 
and  humane  man,  who  might  have  been  my  father.  .  .  .' 
That  was  very  well  said  by  her,  briefly  and  with  dignity.  *  A 
humane  man,'  said  she.  He  stood  up  at  once  :  *  I  v/ill  get 
you  lessons  and  a  situation  without  fail.  I  will  set  to  work  this 
very  day,  for  you  have  quite  a  satisfactory  diploma  too.  .  .  .' 
I  forgot  to  say  that  he  looked  through  all  her  school  certificates 
when  he  first  came  in  ;  she  showed  them  to  him,  and  he  examined 
her  in  several  subjects.  .  .  .  '  You  see,  he  examined  me,  mamma,' 
Olya  said  to  me  afterwards,  '  and  what  a  clever  man  he  is,'  she 
said  ;  '  it  is  not  often  one  speaks  to  such  a  well-educated,  cultured 
man.  .  .  .'  And  she  was  quite  radiant.  The  money — sixty 
roubles,  lay  on  the  table  :  '  Take  it,  mamma,'  said  she  ;  '  when 
I  get  a  situation  we  will  pay  it  back  as  soon  as  possible.  We 
will  show  that  we  are  honest  and  that  we  have  delicacy  :  h». 
has  seen  that  already,  though.'  Then  she  paused.  I  saw  he: 
draw  a  deep  breath.  '  Do  you  know,  mamma,'  she  said  to  me 
suddenly,  *  if  we  had  been  coarse  we  should  perhaps  have  refused 
to  take  it  through  pride,  but  by  taking  it  now  we  onl}'  show 
our  delicacy  of  feeling  and  that  we  trust  him  completely,  out 
of  respect  for  his  grey  hair,  don't  we  ?  '  At  first  I  did  not  quite 
understand  :  'But  why,  Olya,  not  accept  the  benevolence 
of  a  wealthy  and  honourable  man  if  he  has  a  good  heart  too  ?  ' 
She  scowled  at  me.  '  No,  mamma,'  she  said,  *  that's  not  it ; 
I  don't  want  benevolence,  but  his  humanity  is  precious.  And 
it  would  have  been  better  really  not  to  have  taken  the  money 
at  all,  since  he  has  promised  to  get  me  a  situation  ;  that's  enough 
.  .  .  though  we  are  in  need.'  '  Well,  Olya,'  said  I,  '  our  need 
is  so  great  that  we  could  not  have  refused  it.'  I  actually  laughed. 
Well,  I  was  pleased,  but  an  hour  later  she  turned  to  me  :  '  Don't 
spend  that  money  yet,  mamma,'  said  she  resolutely.     '  What  ?  ' 

173 


said  I.  *  I  mean  it,'  she  said,  and  she  broke  off  and  said  no 
more.  She  was  silent  all  the  evening,  only  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  night  I  waked  up  and  heard  Olya  tossing  in  her  bed  :  '  Are 
you  awake,  mamma  ?  '  '  Yes,  I  am  awake.'  '  Do  you  know, 
he  meant  to  insult  me.'  '  What  nonsense,  what  nonsense,'  I 
said.  '  There  is  no  doubt  of  it,'  she  said  ;  '  he  is  a  vile  man  ; 
don't  dare  to  spend  a  farthing  of  his  money.'  I  tried  to  talk 
to  her.  I  burst  out  crying,  in  bed  as  I^v^as.  She  turned  away  to 
the  wall.  '  Be  quiet,'  she  said,  *  let  me  go  to  sleep  ! '  In  the 
morning  I  looked  at  her ;  she  was  not  Uke  herself.  And  you 
may  believe  it  or  not,  before  God  I  swear  she  was  not  in  her 
right  mind  then  !  From  the  time  that  she  was  insulted  in  that 
infamous  place  there  was  darkness  and  perplexity  in  her  heart 
.  .  .  and  in  her  brain.  Looking  at  her  that  morning,  I  had 
misgivings  about  her ;  1  was  alarmed.  I  made  up  my  mind  I 
would  not  say  a  word  to  contradict  her.  "VHe  did  not  even 
leave  his  address,  mamma,'  she  said.  '  For  shame,  Olya,'  I 
said  ;  '  you  listened  to  him  last  night ;  you  praised  him  and 
were  ready  to  shed  tears  of  gratitude.'  That  was  all  I  said, 
but  she  screamed  and  stamped.  '  You  are  a  woman  of  low 
feelings,'  she  said,  '  brought  up  in  the  old  slavish  ideas.  .  .  .' 
And  then,  without  a  word,  she  snatched  up  her  hat,  ran  out. 
I  called  after  her.  I  wondered  what  was  the  matter  with  her, 
where  she  had  run.  She  had  run  to  the  address  bureau  to  find 
out  where  Versilov  Uved.  'I'll  take  him  back  the  money  to- 
day and  fling  it  in  his  face  ;  he  meant  to  insult  me,'  she  said,  '  like 
Safronov  (that  is  the  merchant),  but  Safronov  insulted  me  like 
a  coarse  peasant,  but  he  Ике  a  cunning  Jesuit.'  And  just  then, 
unhappily,  that  gentleman  knocked  at  the  door :  '  I  hear  the 
name  of  Versilov,'  he  said  ;  '  I  can  tell  you  about  him.'  When 
she  heard  Versilov's  name  she  pounced  on  him.  She  was  in  a 
perfect  frenzy ;  she  kept  talking  away.  I  gazed  at  her  in 
amazement.  She  was  always  a  silent  girl  and  had  never  talked 
to  anyone  like  that,  and  with  a  perfect  stranger  too.  Her  cheeks 
were  burning,  her  eyes  glittered.  .  .  .  And  he  said  at  once  : 
'You  are  perfectly  right,  madam.  Versilov,'  said  he,  'is  just 
Uke  the  generals  here,  described  in  the  newspapers  ;  they  dress 
themselves  up  with  all  their  decorations  and  go  after  all  the 
governesses  who  advertise  in  the  papers.  Sometimes  they 
find  what  they  want,  or,  if  they  don't,  they  sit  and  talk  a 
little,  make  bushels  of  promises  and  go  away,  having  got  diver- 
sion out  of  it,  anyway.'     Olya  actually  laughed,  but  so  bitterly, 

174 


and  I  saw  the  gentleman  take  her  hand  and  press  it  to  his  heart. 
'  I  am  a  man  of  independent  means,  madam,'  said  he,  '  and 
might  well  make  a  proposal  to  a  fair  maiden,  but  I'd  better,' 
said  he,  '  kiss  your  little  hand  to  begin  with.  .  .  .'  And  he 
was  trying  to  Mas  her  hand.  How  she  started !  But  I  came 
to  the  rescue,  and  together  we  turned  bim  out  of  the  room. 
Then,  towards  evening,  Olya  snatched  the  money  from  me  and 
ran  out.  When  she  came  back  she  said,  '  I  have  revenged  myself 
on  that  dishonourable  man,  mamma.'  '  Qh,  Olya,  Olya,'  I 
said,  '  perhaps  we  have  thrown  away  our  happiness.  You  have 
insulted  a  generous,  benevolent  man  ! '  I  cried — I  was  so  vexed 
with  her  I  could  not  help  it.  She  shouted  at  me.  *  I  won't  have 
it,  I  won't  have  it  I '  she  cried ;  '  if  he  were  ever  so  honest,  I 
don't  want  his  charity !  I  don't  want  anyone  to  pity  me  ! ' 
I  went  to  bed  with  no  thought  of  anything.  How  many  times 
I  had  looked  on  that  nail  in  your  wall  where  once  there  had 
been  a  looking-glass — it  never  entered  my  head,  never ;  I  never 
thought  of  it  yesterday  and  I'd  never  thought  of  it  before  ;  I 
had  no  inkling  of  it,  and  I  did  not  expect  it  of  Olya  at  all.  I 
usually  sleep  heavily  and  snore  ;  it's  the  blood  going  to  my 
head,  and  sometimes  it  goes  to  my  heart.  I  call  out  in  my 
sleep  so  that  Olya  wakes  me  up  at  night.  '  What  is  the  matter 
with  you,  mamma  1  '  she  wotdd  say ;  '  you  sleep  so  heavily 
there's  no  waking  you.'  '  Oh,  Olya,'  I  said,  '  I  do,  I  do.'  That's 
how  I  must  have  slept  this  night,  so  that,  after  waiting  a  bit, 
she  got  up  without  fear  of  waking  me.  The  strap,  a  long  one 
from  our  trunk,  had  been  lying  about  all  that  mouth  where 
we  could  see  it ;  only  yesterday  morning  I  had  been  thinking 
of  tidying  it  away.  And  the  chair  she  must  have  kicked 
away  afterwards,  and  she  had  put  her  petticoat  down  beside  it 
to  prevent  its  banging  on  the  floor.  And  it  must  have  been  a 
long  time  afterwards,  a  whole  hour  or  more  afterwards,  that  I 
waked  up  and  called  '  Olya,  Olya  '  ;  all  at  once  I  felt  something 
amiss,  and  called  her  name.  Either  because  I  did  not  hear 
her  breathing  in  her  bed,  or  perhaps  I  made  out  in  the  dark  that 
the  bed  was  empty — anyway,  I  got  up  suddenly  and  felt  with 
my  hand  ;  there  was  no  one  in  the  bed  and  the  pillow  was  cold. 
My  heart  sank  ;  I  stood  still  as  though  I  were  stunned  ;  my 
mind  was  a  blank.  '  She's  gone  out,'  I  thought.  I  took  a  step, 
and  by  the  bed  I  seemed  to  see  her  standing  in  the  comer  by 
the  door.  I  stood  still  and  gazed  at  her  without  speaking,  and 
through  the  darkness  she  seemed  to  look  at  me  without  stirring. 

175 


.  .  .  '  But  why  has  she  got  on  a  chair,'  I  wondered.  '  Olya,' 
I  whispered.  I  was  frightened.  '  Olya,  do  you  hear  ? '  But 
suddenly,  as  it  were,  it  all  dawned  upon  me.  I  went  forward, 
held  out  both  arms  and  put  them  round  her,  and  she  swayed 
in  my  arms  ;  I  swaj-ed  and  she  swayed  with  me.  I  under- 
stood and  would  not  understand.  ...  I  wanted  to  cry  out, 
but  no  cry  came.  .  .  .  Ach  !    Ifellon  the  floor  and  shrieked. .. ." 

"  Vassin,"  I  said  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  "  if  it  had 
not  been  for  your  Stebelkov  this  might  not  have  happened." 

"  Who  knows  1 — most  likely  it  would  have  happened.  One 
can't  draw  such  a  conclusion  ;  everything  was  leading  up  to  it, 
apart  from  that.  ...  It  is  true  that  Stebelkov  sometimes  .  .  ." 

He  broke  off  and  frowned  disagreeably.  At  seven  o'clock  he 
went  out  again  ;  he  still  had  a  great  deal  to  do.  I  was  left  at 
last  entirely  alone.  It  was  by  now  daylight.  I  felt  rather 
giddy.  I  was  haunted  by  the  figure  of  Versilov  :  this  lady's 
story  had  brought  him  out  in  quite  a  diiferent  light.  To  think 
this  over  better,  I  lay  down  on  Vassin's  bed  just  as  I  was,  in 
my  clothes  and  my  boots,  just  for  a  minute,  with  no  intention 
of  going  to  sleep — and  suddenly  I  fell  asleep  ;  I  don't  remember 
how  it  happened,  indeed.  I  slept  almost  four  hours  ;  nobody 
waked  me. 

CHAPTER  X 


I  WOKE  about  half-past  ten,  and  for  a  long  time  I  could  not 
believe  my  eyes  :  on  the  sofa  on  which  I  had  slept  the  previous 
night  was  sitting  my  mother,  and  beside  her — the  unhappy 
mother  of  the  dead  girl.  They  were  holding  each  other's  haijds, 
they  were  talking  in  whispers,  I  suppose,  that  they  might  not 
wake  me,  and  both  were  crying.  I  got  up  from  the  bed,  and 
flew  straight  to  kiss  my  mother.  She  positivel}'  beamed  all 
over,  kissed  me  and  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  me  tluree 
times  with  the  right  hand.  Before  we  had  time  to  say  a  word 
the  door  opened,  and  Versilov  and  Vassin  came  in.  My  mother 
at  once  got  up  and  led  the  bereaved  woman  away.  Vassin 
gave  me  his  hand,  while  Versilov  sank  into  an  armchair  without 
saying  a  word  to  me.  Mother  and  he  had  evidently  'ueen  here 
for  some  time.     His  face  looked  overcast  and  careworn. 

170 


"  What  I  regret  most  of  all,"  he  began  saying  slowly  to  V'assin, 
evidently  in  continuation  of  what  they  had  been  discussing 
outside,  "  is  that  I  had  no  time  to  set  it  all  right  yesterday 
evening  ;  then  probably  this  terrible  thing  луоиИ  not  have 
happened  !  And  indeed  there  was  time,  it  was  hardly  eight 
o'clock.  As  soon  as  she  ran  away  from  us  last  night,  I  inwardly 
resolved  to  follow  her  and  to  reassure  her,  but  this  unforeseen 
and  urgent  business,  though  of  course  I  might  quite  well  have 
put  it  ой  till  to-day  ...  or  even  for  a  week — this  vexatious 
turn  of  affairs  has  hindered  and  ruined  everything.  That's  just 
how  things  do  happen  !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  would  not  have  succeeded  in  reassuring  her  ; 
things  had  gone  too  far  already,  apart  from  you,"  Vassin  put  in. 
"  No,  I  should  have  succeeded,  I  certainly  should  have  suc- 
ceeded. And  the  idea  did  occur  to  me  to  send  Sofia  Andreyevna 
in  my  place.  It  flashed  across  my  mind,  but  nothing  more. 
Sofia  Andreyevna  alone  would  have  convinced  her,  and  the 
unhappy  girl  would  have  been  alive.  No,  never  again  will  I 
meddle  ...  in  '  good  works  '  .  .  .  and  it  is  the  only  time 
in  my  life  I  have  done  it !  And  I  imagined  that  I  had  kept  up 
with  the  times  and  understood  the  younger  generation.  But 
we  elders  grow  old  almost  before  we  grow  ripe.  And,  by  the  way, 
there  are  a  terrible  number  of  modem  people  who  go  on  con- 
sidering themselves  the  younger  generation  from  habit,  because 
only  yesterday  they  were  such,  and  meantime  they  don't  notice 
that  they  are  no  longer  under  the  ban  of  the  orthodox." 

"  There  has  been  a  misunderstanding,  and  the  misimdcr- 
standing  is  quite  evident,"  Vassin  observed  reasonabl3\  "  Бег 
mother  maintains  that  after  the  cruel  way  she  was  insulted  in 
that  infamous  house,  she  seemed  to  lose  her  reason.  Add  to  that 
her  circumstances,  the  insult  in  the  first  place  from  the  merchant 
...  all  this  might  have  hapj^ened  in  the  past,  and,  to  my  mind, 
is  in  no  wav  particularly  characteristic  of  the  j'ounger  generation 
of  to-day." 

"  It's  impatient,  the  present  generation,  and  has  little  under- 
standing of  reality;  and,  although  that's  true  of  all  young  people 
in  all  ages,  it's  particularly  so  in  this  ...  tell  me,  what  part 
had  Mr.  Stebelkov  in  the  trouble  ?  " 

''  Mr.  Stebelkov,"  I  put  in  suddenly,  "  was  the  cause  of  it  alU 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  him  nothing  would  have  happened,   he 
poured  oil  on  the  flames." 
Versilov  listened,  but  he  did  not  glance  at  me.     Vassin  frowned. 

jyy  M 


"  I  blame  myself  for  one  ridiculous  circumstance,"  Versilov 
went  on  deliberately,  dwelling  on  each  syllable  as  before,  "  I 
believe  that  in  my  usual  stupid  way  I  allowed  myself  to  be  lively 
after  a  fashion — this  frivolous  little  laugh — in  fact,  I  was  not 
sufficiently  abrupt,  dry  and  gloomy,  three  charsicteristics  which 
seem  to  be  greatly  prized  by  the  yoimg  generation.  In  fact,  I 
gave  her  grounds  for  suspecting  me  of  being  a  gay  deceiver." 

"  Quite  the  opposite,"  I  put  in  abruptly  again,  "the  mother 
lays  particular  stress  on  your  having  made  the  best  possible 
impression  through  your  gravity,  severity  even,  and  sincerity — 
those  were  her  very  words.  The  dead  girl  herself  praised  you 
on  the  same  grounds  directly  after  you'd  gone." 

"  Y-yes  ?  "  Versilov  mumbled  with  a  cursory  glance  in  my 
direction  at  last.  "  Take  this  scrap  of  paper,  it's  essential  to 
the  business  " — he  held  out  a  tiny  sheet  to  Vassin.  Vassin  took 
it,  and  seeing  I  was  looking  at  him  with  curiosity,  gave  it  to  me 
to  read.  It  was  a  note  of  two  straggling  lines  serawled  in  pencil, 
and  perhaps  in  the  dark  : 

"  Mother  darling,  forgive  me  for  cutting  short  my  debut  into 
life.    Your  Olya  who  is  causing  you  such  grief." 

"  That  was  only  found  this  morning,"  Vassin  explained. 

"  What  a  strange  letter  !  "  I  cried  in  astonishment. 

"  Why  strange  ?  "  asked  Vassin. 

"  How  can  anyone  Use  humorous  expressions  at  such  a 
minute  ?  " 

Vassin  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  And  the  humour  is  strange  too,"  I  went  on.  "  It's  the 
conventional  school  jargon  that  schoolfellows  use  with  one 
another.  Who  could  write  '  cut  short  my  debut  into  life '  at 
such  a  moment,  in  such  a  letter  to  her  unhappy  mother — and 
she  seems  to  have  loved  her  mother  too." 

"  Why  not  write  it  ?  "  said  Vassin,  still  not  understanding. 

"  There's  absolutely  no  humour  about  it,"  observed  Versilov 
at  last,  "  the  expression,  of  course,  is  inappropriate,  and  quite 
incongruous,  and  may,  as  you  say,  have  been  picked  up  from 
some  high-school  slang  or  from  some  journalistic  stufiE ;  but 
the  dead  girl  used  it  in  that  awful  letter  quite  simply  and 
earnestly.' 

"  That's  impossible  ;  she  had  completed  her  studies  and  won 
the  silver  medal." 

"  A  silver  medal  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Lots  of  them 
complete  their  studies  as  brilliantly  nowadays." 

178 


"  The  j'oungcr  generation  again,"  said  Vassin,  smiling. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Versilov,  getting  up  and  taking  his  hat. 
**  If  the  present  generation  is  deficient  on  the  literary  side  there's 
no  doubt  that  it  possesses  other  qualifications,"  he  added  with 
unusual  gravity.  "  At  the  same  time  '  many  '  does  not  mean 
'  all ' :  you,  for  instance,  I  don't  accuse  of  being  badly  educated 
on  the  literary  side,  and  you're  a  young  man  too." 

"  Vassin  saw  nothing  wrong  in  the  use  of  '  debut '  either,"  I 
could  not  resist  saying, 

Versilov  held  out  his  hand  to  Vassin  without  speaking.  The 
latter  took  up  his  cap  to  go  with  him,  caUing  out  to  me  :  "  Good- 
bye for  now."  Versilov  went  out  without  noticing  me.  I  too 
had  no  time  to  lose.  Come  what  might,  I  had  to  run  and  find 
a  lodging — now  more  necessary'  than  ever.  ]\Ty  mother  was 
not  with  the  landlady.  She  had  gono  out,  taking  the  bereaved 
woman  with  her.  I  went  out  into  the  street,  feeling  particularly 
cheerful  and  confident.  A  new  and  mighty  feeling  had  sprung 
up  in  my  soul.  As  luck  would  have  it,  everything  helped  to 
maintain  this  mood.  I  was  exceptionally  fortunate  and  quickly 
found  a  lodging  in  every  way  suitable.  Of  this  lodging  later, 
but  for  the  moment  I  will  continue  with  what  is  more 
important. 

It  Avas  past  one  when  I  went  back  to  Vassin's  to  fetch  my  trunk, 
and  again  found  him  at  home.  When  he  caw  me  he  cried  with 
a  sincere  and  good-humoxired  air  : 

"  How  glad  I  am  you've  caught  me  !  I  was  just  going  oub.  I 
can  tell  you  a  piece  of  news  that  I  think  will  interest  you 
particularly." 

"  I'm  siu-e  of  that,"  I  cried. 

"  I  say,  you  do  look  cheerful !  Tell  me,  did  you  know  sxny- 
thing  about  a  letter  that  was  preserved  by  Ivraft,  and  came  into 
Vcrsilov's  hands  yesterday,  something  concerning  the  lawsuit 
he  has  just  won  1  In  this  letter,  the  testator  declares  intentions 
contrary  to  the  decision  in  the  lawcourts  yesterday.  The  letter 
was  WTitten  long  ago.  I  know  nothing  definite  about  it  in  fact, 
but  don't  you  know  something  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do.  The  day  before  yesterday  Kraft  took  me 
home  with  him  from  those  people  on  purpose  to  give  me  the 
letter,  and  I  gave  it  to  Versilov  yesterday." 

"  Yes  1  Thafs  just  what  I  thought.  Only  fancy,  that's  just 
the  business  Versilov  was  speaking  of  just  now,  that  prevented 
him  from  coming  yesterday  evening  to  see  that  girl — it  was 

179 


owing  to  that  letter.  Versilov  went  straight  yesterday  evening 
to  Prince  Sokolsky's  lawyer,  handed  in  the  letter,  and  refused  to 
take  the  fortune  he  had  won.  By  now  this  refusal  has  been 
put  into  legal  form.  Versilov  is  not  making  Prince  Sokolsky  a 
present  of  the  money,  but  declares  that  he  acknowledges  his 
claim  to  it." 

I  was  dumbfoundered,  but  ecstatic.  I  had  in  reality  been 
coiiviuccd  that  Versilov  would  destroy  the  letter,  and,  what  is 
more,  tiiough  I  had  told  Kraft  that  this  would  be  dishonourable, 
and  although  I  had  repeated  this  to  myself  in  the  restaurant, 
and  had  told  myself  that  "  it  was  to  find  a  true  man,  not  a  man 
like  this  that  I  had  come  " — yet  deeper  down,  that  is,  in  my 
inmost  soul,  I  felt  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
destroy  the  letter,  that  is  to  say,  I  looked  upon  this  as  quite  a 
natural  thing  to  do.  If  I  blamed  Versilov  for  it  afterwards  I 
simply  blamed  him  on  purpose,  to  keep  up  appearances,  and  to 
maintain  my  moral  superiority.  But  hearing  now  of  Versilov's 
noble  action  I  was  moved  to  genuine  and  whole-hearted  en- 
thusiasm, blaming  myself  with  shame  and  remorse  for  my 
cynicism  and  indifference  to  principle,  and  instantly  exalting 
Versilov  to  heights  far  above  me.  I  almost  embraced 
Vassin. 

"  What  a  man  !  What  a  man  !  "  I  exclaimed,  rapturously. 
"  Who  else  would  have  done  it  ?  " 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  very  many  people  would  not 
have  done  it  .  ,  .  and  that  it  was  undoubtedly  an  extremely 
disinterested  action.  .  .  ." 

"  But  .  .  .  ?     Finish,  Vassin.     You  have  a  '  but '  ?  " 
"  Yes,  of  course  there  is  a  '  but '  ;    Versilov's  action,  to  my 
mind,  is  a  little  too  hastj^  and  not  quite  ingenuous,"  said  Vassin 
with  a  smile. 

"  Not  ingenuous  ?  " 

"  Yes.  There's  too  much  of  the  '  hero  on  the  pedestal '  about 
it.  For  in  any  case  he  might  have  done  the  same  thing  without 
injuring  himself.  Some  part  of  the  inheritance,  if  not  half  of  it, 
might  well  have  remained  with  him,  even  from  the  most  scrupu- 
lous standpoint,  especially  as  the  letter  has  no  legal  significance, 
and  he  has  already  won  the  case.  The  lawyer  on  the  other  side 
shares  my  opinion.  I've  just  been  talking  to  him.  His  conduct 
would  have  been  no  less  handsome  ;  but  simply  through  a  whim 
due  to  pride,  things  have  turned  out  differently.  What's  more, 
Mr.  Versilov  let  himself  be  carried  away  by  his  feelings,  and  acted 

i8o 


too  precipitately.     He  said  himself  yesterday  that  he   might 
have  put  it  off  for  a  whole  week.  .  .  ." 

"  Do  you  know,  Vassin,  I  can't  help  agreeing  with  you,  but 
...  I  like  it  better  so,  it  pleases  me  more  !  " 

"  HoAvever,  it's  a  matter  of  taste  !     You  asked  for  my  opinion 
or  I  should  have  held  m}'  tongue." 

"  Even  if  there  is  something  of  the  '  pedestal '  about  it,  so 
much  the  better,"  I  said.  "  A  pedestal  may  be  a  pedestal  but 
in  itself  it's  a  very  precious  thing.  This  '  pedestal  '  is,  anyway, 
an  '  ideal '  of  a  sort,  and  it's  by  no  means  an  improvement  that 
some  modern  souls  are  without  it :  it's  better  to  Iiave  it  even 
in  a  slightly  distorted  form  !  And  I'm  sure  л'ои  think  so  yourself, 
Vassin  darUng,  Vassin,  my  dear  Vassin  !  I  am  raxnng  but  of 
course  you  xmderstand  me.  That's  what  you're  for,  Vassin. 
In  any  case  I  embrace  and  kiss  you,  Vassin  !  " 

"  So  pleased  ?  " 

"  Yes,  aA\'fully  pleased.  For  the  man  '  Avas  dead  and  liveth, 
he  was  lost  and  is  found  '  !  Vassin,  I'm  a  miserable  wTetch  of  a 
boj%  I'm  not  as  good  as  you.  I  recognize  it  just  because  at  some 
moments  I'm  different,  deeper  and  loftier,  I  say  this  because 
the  day  before  yesterdaj-  I  flattered  л'ои  to  your  face  (and  I  did 
that  because  I  had  been  humiliated  and  crushed) — I  hated  you 
for  it  for  two  whole  days.  I  swore  the  same  night  that  I  would 
never  come  and  see  yoii,  and  I  came  to  you  yesterday  morning 
simply  from  spite,  do  you  imderstand,  Jrom  spite.  I  sat  here 
alone  criticizing  your  room  and  you,  and  every  one  of  your 
boolcs  and  your  landlad}'.  I  tried  to  humble  vou  and  laugh  at 
you." 

"  You  shouldn't  say  that  .  .  .  ." 

"  Yesterday  evening,  when  I  concluded  from  some  plirase  of 
yours  that  you  did  not  understand  women,  I  felt  glad  that  I  was 
able  to  detect  you  in  it.  This  morning,  Avhen  I  scored  off  you 
over  the  '  debut,'  I  was  awfully  pleased  again,  and  all  because 
I  had  praised  you  up  so  before." 

"I  should  think  so  indeed!"  Vassin  cried  at  last  (he  still 
went  on  smiling,  not  in  the  least  surprised  at  me).  "  Why,  that 
happens  with  almost  every  one,  only  no  one  admits  it,  and  one 
ought  not  to  confess  it  at  all,  because  in  any  case  it  passes,  and 
leads  to  nothing." 

"  Is  it  really  the  same  with  every  one  ?  Is  every  one  the 
same  ?  And  you  say  that  quite  calmly  ?  Why,  one  can't  go 
on  living  with  such  views  !  " 

i8i 


"You  think  then  that : 

To  me  more  dear  the  lie  ennobling 
TJuin  Truth's  dark  infamy  revealed  !  " 

"  But  that's  true,  you  know,"  I  cried.  "  There's  a  sacred 
axiodl  in  those  two  lines  !  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can't  undertake  to  decide  whether  those 
lines  are  true  or  not.  Perhaps,  as  always,  the  truth  lies  in  the 
тзап  :  that  is,  that  in  one  case  truth  is  sacred  and  in  another 
falsehood.  The  only  thing  I  know  for  certain  is  that  that  idea 
Avill  long  remain  one  of  the  questions  most  disputed  among  men. 
In  any  case  I  observe  that  at  the  moment  you're  longing  to  dance. 
Well,  dance  away  then,  exercise  is  wholesome  ;  but  I  have  a 
mass  of  work  to  get  through  this  morning  .  .  .  and  I've  lingered 
on  with  you  till  I'm  late  !  " 

"  I'm  going  !  I'm  going  !  I'm  just  off  !  One  word  only," 
I  cried,  after  seizing  my  trunk,  "  my  'throwing  mj'self  on  your 
nock '  again ;  it's  simply  because  when  I  came  in  you  told  me 
this  news  with  such  genuine  pleasure  and  were  '  so  glad  '  I  had 
found  you,  and  after  the  '  debut '  incident  this  morning  ;  that 
real  gladness  of  yours  turned  my  '  youthful  ardent  soul '  to  you 
again.  Well,  good-bye,  good-bye,  I'll  do  my  best  not  to  come 
in  the  future,  and  I  know  that  that  луШ  please  you  very  much, 
as  I  see  from  vour  eyes,  and  it  will  be  an  advantage  to  both 
of  us." 

Chattering  like  this,  and  almost  spluttering  in  my  joyful 
babble,  I  hauled  up  my  trunk  and  set  oil  with  it  to  my  lodging. 
What  delighted  me  most  of  all  was  that  Versilov  had  been  so 
unmistakably  angry  with  me,  and  had  been  unwilling  to  speak 
to  me  or  look  at  me.  As  soon  as  I  had  deposited  my  trunk, 
I  at  once  flew  off  to  my  old  prince.  I  must  confess  that  I  had 
rather  felt  not  seeing  him  those  two  da^'s.  Besides,  he  v/ould 
no  doubt  have  heard  already  about  Versilov. 

2 

I  knev/  he  would  be  deli'^hted  to  see  me,  and  I  protest  that  I 
should  have  gone,  apart  from  Versilov  altogether.  What  had 
alarmiid  me  yesterday  and  that  morning  was  the  thought  that 
I  might  meet  Katerina  Nikolaevna  ;  but  now  I  v»as  afraid  of 
nothing. 

He  embraced  me  jo3'fiil]y. 

182 


"  About  Versilov  !  Have  you  heard  ? "  I  began  forthwith 
on  the  great  news. 

"  Cher  enfant,  my  dear  boy,  it's  so  magnanimous,  so  noble — 
in  fact  it  made  an  overwhehning  impression  even  on  Kilyan  " 
(this  was  the  clerk  downstairs).  "  It's  injudicious  on  his  part, 
but  it's  magnificent,  it's  heroic  !  One  must  cherish  the 
ideal !  " 

"  Yes,  one  must,  mustn't  one  ?  We  were  always  agreed  about 
that." 

"  My  dear  boy,  we  always  have  agreed.  Where  have  you 
been  ?  I  wanted  very  much  to  come  "and  see  you  but  I  didn't 
know  where  to  find  you  .  .  .  for  I  couldn't  go  to  Versilov's 
anyway.  .  .  .  Though  now,  after  all  this  .  .  .  you  know,  my 
boy,  I  believe  it's  by  this  he  has  always  conquered  the  women's 
hearts,  by  these  qualities,  no  doubt  of  it.  .  .  ." 

"  By  the  way,  for  fear  I  forget  it,  I've  been  saving  this  up 
for  you.  A  very  low  fellow,  a  ridiculous  fool,  abusing  Versilov 
to  my  face  yesterday,  used  the  expression  that  he  was  a  *  petticoat 
prophet '  ;  what  an  expression — was  it  his  own  expression  ?  1 
have  been  treasuring  it  up  for  you.  .  .  ." 

"  A  '  petticoat  prophet '  ?  Mais  .  .  .  c'est  charmant  !  Ha- 
ha  !  But  that  fits  him  so  well,  or  rather  it  doesn't — foo  !  .  .  . 
But  it's  so  apt  ...  at  least  it's  not  apt  at  all  but  ..." 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,  don't  worry  yourself,  look  upon 
it  simply  as  a  Ъоп  mot  !  " 

"  It's  a  capital  bon  mot,  and  do  you  know,  it  has  a  deep  signi- 
ficance. .  .  .  There's  a  perfectly  true  idea  in  it.  That  is,  would 
you  believe  it  ...  In  fact,  I'll  tell  you  a  tiny  little  secret.  Have 
you  noticed  that  girl  Olympiada  ?  Would  you  believe  it,  she's 
got  a  little  heartache  for  Audrey  Petrovitch ;  in  fact  it  goes  so 
far  as  cherishing  a  .  .  ." 

"  Cherishing  !  What  doesn't  she  deserve  ?  "  I  cried  with  a 
gesture  of  contempt. 

"  Mon  cher,  don't  shout,  it's  all  nonsense,  it  may  be  you're 
right  from  your  point  of  view.  By  the  way,  what  was  the 
matter  with  you  last  time  you  were  here  and  Katerina  Niko- 
laevna  arrived  ?  .  .  .  You  staggered ;  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  fall  down,  and  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  to  support 
you." 

"  Never  mind  that  now.  The  fact  is  I  was  simply  confused 
for  a  special  reason.  .  .  ." 

*'  You're  blushing  now." 

183 


"  And  you  must  rub  it  in  of  course.  You  know  that  she's  on 
bad  terms  with  Versilov  .  .  .  and  then  all  this  ;  so  it  upset  me. 
Ech,  leave  that ;   later  !  " 

"  Yes,  let's  leave  it !  I'm  delighted  to.  .  .  .  In  fact,  I've 
been  very  much  to  blame  in  regard  to  her  and  I  remember  I 
grumbled  about  her  to  you.  .  .  .  Forget  it,  my  dear  ;  she  will 
change  her  opinion  of  you,  too.  I  quite  foresee  that.  .  .  .  Ah, 
here's  Prince  Sergay  !  " 

A  handsome  young  officer  walked  in.  I  looked  at  him  eagerly, 
I  had  never  seen  him  before.  I  call  him  handsome  for  every  one 
called  him  so,  but  there  was  something  not  altogether  attractive 
in  that  handsome  young  face.  I  note  this  as  the  impression 
made  the  first  instant,  my  first  view  of  him,  which  remained 
with  me  always. 

He  was  thin  and  finely  built,  with  brown  hair,  a  fresh  but 
somewhat  sallow  skin  and  an  expression  of  determination.  There 
was  a  rather  hard  look  in  his  beautiful  dark  eyes  even  when  he  was 
perfectly  calm.  But  his  resolute  expression  repelled  one  just 
because  one  felt  that  its  resoluteness  cost  him  little.  But  I 
cannot  put  it  into  words.  ...  It  is  true  that  his  face  was  able 
to  change  suddenly  from  hardness  to  a  wonderfully  friendly, 
gentle  and  tender  expression,  and,  what  is  more,  with  unmis- 
takable frankness.  It  was  just  that  frankness  луЫсЬ  was  at- 
tractive. I  Avill  note  another  characteristic  :  in  spite  of  its 
friendliness  and  frankness  his  face  never  looked  gay  ;  even  when 
he  laughed  with  whole-hearted  mirth  there  was  always  a  feeling 
that  there  was  no  trace  in  his  heart  of  genuine,  serene,  light- 
hearted  gaiety.  .  .  .  But  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  describe  a 
face  like  this.  I'm  utterly  incapable  of  it.  In  his  usual  stupid 
way  the  old  prince  hastened  to  introduce  us. 

"  This  is  my  young  friend  Arkady  Andreyevitch  Dolgoruky  " 
(again  "  Andreyevitch  !  "). 

The  young  man  turned  to  me  with  redoubled  courtesy,  but  it 
was  evident  that  my  name  was  qu^te  unknown  to  him. 

"  He's  ...  a  relation  of  Audrey  Petrovitch's,"  murmured  my 
vexatious  old  prince.  (How  tiresome  tlu'se  old  men  sometimes 
are  with  their  lidlp  ways!)  The  youn;^  man  at  once  realized 
who  I  was. 

"  Ach  !  I  hcaril  of  you  long  ago.  .  .  ."he  said  quickly.  "  I 
had  the  very  great  pleasure  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  your 
sister  Lizaveta  .Makarovna  last  year  at  Luga.  .  .  .  She  talked 
to  me  about  yon  too." 

184 


I  was  surprised  ;  there  was  a  glow  of  real  pleasure  iii  his 
face. 

"  Excuse  me,  prince,"  I  answered,  drawing  back  both  my  hands, 
"  I  ought  to  tell  you  frankly,  and  I'm  glad  to  be  speaking  in 
the  presence  of  our  dear  prince,  that  I  was  actually  desirous  of 
meeting  you,  and  quite  recently,  only  yesterday,  desired  it  with 
very  different  motives.  I  tell  you  this  directly  although  it  may 
surprise  you.  In  short,  I  wanted  to  challenge  you  for  the  insult 
you  offered  to  Versilov  a  year  and  a  half  ago  in  Ems.  And 
though  perhaps  you  would  not  have  accepted  my  challenge,  as 
I'm  only  a  school-boy,  and  not  of  age,  yet  I  should  have  sent 
you  the  challenge,  however  you  might  have  taken  it  or  whatever 
you  might  have  done,  and  I  confess  I  have  the  same  intention 
stUl." 

The  old  prince  told  me  afterwards  that  I  succeeded  in  pro- 
nouncing these  words  with  great  dignity. 

There  was  a  look  of  genuine  distress  on  the  young  man's 
face. 

"  You  didn't  let  me  finish,"  he  answered  earnestly.  "  The 
real  cordiality  with  which  I  greeted  you  is  due  to  my  present 
feeling  for  Audrey  Petrovitch.  I'm  sorry  I  cannot  at  once  tell 
you  all  the  circumstances.  But  I  assure  you  on  my  honour 
that  I  have  long  regarded  my  unfortunate  conduct  at  Ems  with 
the  greatest  regi'et.  I  resolved  on  my  return  to  Petersburg  to 
make  every  reparation  within  my  power,  that  is,  literally  to 
make  him  an  apology  in  any  form  he  might  select.  The  highest 
and  weightiest  considerations  have  caused  this  change  in  my 
vie\vs.  The  fact  that  we  were  at  law  with  one  another  would 
not  have  affected  my  determination  in  the  least.  His  action 
in  regard  to  me  yesterday  has,  so  to  speak,  moved  me  to  the 
depths  of  my  soul,  and  even  noлv,  would  you  believe  it,  I  can't 
get  over  it.  And  now,  I  must  tell  you,  I've  come  to  the  prince 
to  inform  him  of  an  astounding  circumstance.  Three  hours  ago, 
that  is,  just  at  the  time  when  he  was  drawing  up  the  deed  with 
the  lawyer,  a  friend  of  Audrey  Petrovitch's  came  to  me  bringing 
a  challenge  from  him  to  a  duel  ...  a  formal  challenge  for  the 
affair  at  Ems.  .  .  ." 

"  He  challenged  you  ?  "  I  cried,  and  I  felt  that  my  eyes  glowed 
and  the  blood  rushed  into  my  face. 

"  Yes,  challenged  me.  I  at  once  accepted  the  challenge,  but 
resolved  before  our  meeting  to  send  him  a  letter  in  which  I 
explain  my  view  of  my  conduct,  and  my  deep  regret  for  my 

185 


horrible  "blunder  ...  for  it  was  only  a  blunder,  an  unlucky,  fatal 
blunder  !  I  may  observe  that  my  position  in  the  regiment  forced 
me  to  run  the  risk  of  this  duel,  and  that  by  sending  such  a  letter 
before  our  meeting  I  have  exposed  myself  to  public  censure  .  .  . 
do  you  imderstand  ?  But  in  spite  of  that,  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  send  it,  and  I've  only  not  done  so  because  an  hour  after  the 
challenge  I  received  another  letter  from  him  in  which  he  apologizes 
for  having  troubled  me,  asks  me  to  forget  the  challenge,  and 
adds  that  he  regrets  his  '  momentary  outburst  of  cowardice 
and  egoism  ' — ^his  own  words.  So  that  he  reUeves  me  from  all 
obligation  to  send  the  letter.  I  had  not  yet  dispatched  it,  but  I 
have  come  to  say  something  about  this  to  the  prince.  .  ,  .  And 
I  assure  you  I  have  suffered  far  more  from  the  reproaches 
of  my  conscience  than  anyone.  ...  Is  this  sufficient  explan- 
ation for  you,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  for  the  time  at  any 
rate  ?  Will  you  do  me  the  honour  to  believe  in  my  complete 
sincerity  ?  " 

I  was  completely  conquered.  I  found  a  perfect  frankness, 
which  was  the  last  thing  I  had  expected.  Indeed,  I  had  expected 
nothing  of  this  Idnd.  I  muttered  something  in  reply  and  forthwith 
held  out  both  hands.  He  shook  both  of  them  in  his  delightedly. 
Then  he  drew  the  old  prince  away  and  talked  to  him  for  five 
minutes  in  the  latter's  bedroom. 

"  If  you  want  to  do  me  particular  pleasure,"  he  said  frankly 
in  a  loud  voice,  addressing  me  as  he  came  out  of  the  prince's 
room,  "  come  back  straight  with  me  and  I  will  show  you  the 
letter  I  am  just  sending  to  Audrey  Petrovitch  and  with  it  his 
letter  to  me." 

I  consented  with  the  utmost  readiness.  My  old  prince  made 
a  great  bustle  at  seeing  us  ofiE  and  called  me,  too,  apart  into  his 
room  for  a  minute. 

"  M(M  ami,  how  glad  I  am,  how  glad  I  am.  .  .  .  We'll  talk 
of  it  all  later.  By  the  way,  I've  two  letters  here  in  my  portfolio. 
One  has  to  be  delivered  with  a  personal  explanation  and  the 
other  must  go  to  the  bank — and  there  too  ..." 

And  he  at  once  gave  me  two  commissions  which  he  pretended 
were  urgent  and  required  exceptional  effort  and  attention.  I 
should  have  to  go,  deliver  them  myself,  give  a  receipt  and  so  on. 

"  Ha,  you  are  cunning  !  "  I  cried  as  I  took  the  letters,  "  I 
swear  all  this  is  nonsense  and  you've  no  work  for  me  to  do  at  all. 
You've  invented  these  two  jobs  on  purpose  to  make  me  believe 
that  I  am  of  use  and  not  taking  money  for  nothing." 

i86 


"  Моп  enfant,  I  protest  that  you  axe  mistaken.  They  are 
both  urgent  matters.  Cher  enfant !  ^^  he  cried,  suddenly  over- 
come by  a  rush  of  emotion,  "  my  dear  young  friend  "  (he  put  both 
hands  on  my  head),  ' '  I  bless  you  and  your  destiny.  Let  us  always 
be  as  true-hearted  as  to-day  ...  as  kind-hearted  and  good  as 
possible,  let  us  love  all  that  is  fair  and  good  ...  in  all  its  varied 
forms.  .  .  .  Well,  enfin  .  .  .  enfin  rendons  grace  .  .  .  et  je  te 
benis  !  " 

He  could  not  go  on,  but  whimpered  over  my  head.  I  must 
confess  I  was  almost  in  tears  too  ;  anyway  I  embraced  my 
queer  old  friend  with  sincere  and  delighted  feeling.  We  kissed 
each  other  warmly. 


Prince  Sergay  as  I  shall  call  him  (that  is  Prince  Sergay  Petro- 
vitch  Sokolsky)  drove  me  in  a  smart  victoria  to  liis  flat,  and  my 
first  impression  was  one  of  surprise  at  its  magnificence .  Not  that 
it  was  really  magnificent,  but  it  was  a  flat  such  as  "  well-to- 
do  people  "  Uve  in,  light,  large,  lofty  rooms  (I  saw  two  of  them) 
and  the  furniture  well  padded,  comfortable,  abundant  and  of  the 
best — though  I've  no  idea  whether  it  was  in  the  Versailles  or 
Renaissance  style.  There  were  rugs,  carvings,  and  statuettes, 
though  everybody  said  that  the  Sokolskys  were  beggars,  and  had 
absolutely  nothing.  I  had  heard,  however,  that  Prince  Sergay 
had  cut  a  dash  wherever  he  could,  here,  in  Moscow,  in  his  old 
regiment  and  in  Paris,  that  he  was  a  gambler  and  that  he  had 
debts.  My  coat  was  crumpled  and  covered  with  fluff,  too, 
because  I  had  slept  in  it  without  undressing,  and  this  was  the 
fourth  day  I  had  worn  my  shirt.  My  coat  was  not  really  shabby 
but  when  I  went  into  Prince  Sergay's,  I  recalled  Versilov's 
suggestion  that  I  should  have  a  new  suit. 

"Only  fancy,  owing  to  a  case  of  suicide,  I  slept  all  night  without 
undressing,"  I  observed  with  a  casual  air,  and  as  he  immediately 
looked  attentive  I  briefly  told  the  story.  But  what  interested 
him  most  was  evidently  his  letter.  What  seemed  strangest  to 
me  was  that  he  had  not  smiled  nor  betrayed  the  slightest  sjonptom 
of  amusement  when  I  had  told  bim  I  meant  to  challenge  him  to  a 
duel.  Though  I  should  have  been  able  to  prevent  his  laughing, 
his  gravity  was  strange  in  a  man  of  his  class.  We  sat  opposite 
one  another  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  at  his  immense  writing 
table,  and  he  handed  me  for  my  inspection  the  fair  copy  of  his 

187 


letter  to  Versilov.  The  letter  was  very  much  like  all  that  he  had 
just  told  me  at  the  old  prince's  ;  it  was  written  with  warmth, 
indeed.  I  really  did  not  know  at  first  what  to  make  of  his 
evident  frankness  and  his  apparent  leaning  towards  what  was 
good  and  right,  but  I  was  already  beginning  to  be  conquered 
by  it,  for  after  all  what  reason  had  I  for  disbelieving  it  ?  What- 
ever he  was  like,  and  whatever  stories  were  told  of  him,  he  yet 
might  have  good  impulses.  I  looked,  too,  at  Versilov's  second  note, 
which  consisted  of  seven  lines — his  withdrawal  of  his  challenge. 
Though  he  did,  it  is  true,  speak  of  his  own  cowardice  and 
egoism,  yet  on  the  whole  the  note  was  suggestive  of  a  sort  of 
disdain  ...  or  rather  there  was  apparent  in  the  whole  episode 
a  superlative  nonchalance.  I  did  not,  however,  utter  this 
thought  aloud. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  withdrawal,  though  ? "  I 
asked,  "  you  don't  suppose  he  acted  from  cowardice,  do 
you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Prince  Sergay  with  a  smile,  though  a 
very  grave  one,  and  in  fact  he  was  becoming  more  and  more 
preoccupied.  "  I  know  quite  well  how  manly  he  is.  It's  a  special 
point  of  view  ...  his  peculiar  turn  of  ideas." 

"  No  doubt,"  I  broke  in  warmly.  "  A  fellow  called  Vassin 
says  that  there's  too  much  of  the  '  pedestal '  about  the  line  he 
has  taken  with  this  letter  and  his  refusing  to  take  the  fortune. 
.  .  .  But  to  my  mind  things  Uke  that  aren't  done  for  effect  but 
correspond  ■n^th  something  fundamental  within." 

"  I  know  Mr.  Vassin  very  well,"  observed  Prince  Sergay. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  must  have  seen  him  in  Luga." 

We  suddenly  glanced  at  one  another,  and,  I  remember,  I 
flushed  a  little.  Anyway  he  changed  the  subject.  I  had  a 
great  longing  to  talk,  however.  The  thought  of  one  person  I 
had  met  the  day  before  tempted  me  to  ask  him  certain  questions, 
but  I  did  not  know  how  to  approach  the  subject.  And  alto- 
gether I  felt  ill  at  ease.  I  was  impressed,  too,  by  his  perfect 
breeding,  his  courtesy,  his  manner,  his  absence  of  constraint, 
in  fact  by  the  polish  which  these  aristocrats  acquire  almost 
from  the  cradle.  I  saw  two  glaring  mistakes  in  grammar  in 
his  letter.  And  as  a  rule,  when  I  meet  such  people  I'm  not  at 
all  overawed  and  only  become  more  abrupt,  which  is  sometimes, 
perhaps,  a  mistake.  But  on  this  occasion  the  thought  that  I 
was  covered  with  fluff  contributed  to  my  discomfiture  so  that, 
in  fact,   I  floundered  a  little    and  dropped  into  being  over- 

i88 


familar.  I  caught  Prince  Sergay  eyeing  me  very  intently  at 
times. 

"  Tell  me,  prince,"  I  blurted  out  suddenly,  "  don't  you 
secretly  think  it  absurd  that  a  j'oungster  like  me  should  think 
of  challenging  you,  especially  for  an  affront  to  some  one  else  ?  " 

"  An  affront  to  a  father  may  well  be  resented.  No,  I  don't 
think  it's  absurd." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  it's  dreadfully  absurd  .  .  .  from  one 
point  of  view,  not  of  course  from  my  own.  Especially  as  my 
name  is  Dolgoruky  and  not  Versilov.  And  if  you're  telling  me 
a  falsehood,  or  are  trying  to  snuoothe  things  over  simply  from 
worldly  politeness,  it  stands  to  reason  that  you  are  deceiving  me 
in  everything  else." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  it's  absurd,"  he  repeated  with  great 
seriousness.  "  How  could  you  help  feeling  like  a  son  to  your 
father  ?  It's  true,  you're  young  .  .  .  because  ...  I  don't 
know  ...  I  believe  that  a  youth  not  of  age  can't  fight  a  duel  .  .  , 
and  a  challenge  can't  be  accepted  from  him  ...  by  the  rules.  .  .  . 
But  there  is,  if  you  like,  one  serious  objection  to  be  made  :  if  you 
send  a  challenge  without  the  knowledge  of  the  offended  party 
on  whose  behalf  you  are  acting,  you  seem  to  be  guilty  of  a  certain 
lack  of  respect  to  him,  don't  з^и  ?  .  .  ." 

Our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  footman  who  came  in 
to  make  some  announcement.  Prince  Sergay,  who  seemed  to 
have  been  expecting  him,  went  at  once  to  meet  him  without 
finishing  what  he  was  saying.  So  the  announcement  was  made 
in  an  undertone  and  I  did  not  hear  it. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Prince  Sergay,  turning  to  me,  "  I'll  be 
back  in  a  moment." 

And  he  went  out.  I  was  left  alone ;  I  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  thinking.  Strange  to  say,  he  attracted  me  and  at 
the  same  time  repelled  me  intensely.  There  was  something 
in  him  for  which  I  could  not  find  a  name,  though  it  was  very 
repellent.  "If  he  isn't  laughing  at  me  he  certainly  must  be 
very  guileless,  but  if  he  has  been  laughing  at  me  then  .  .  .  pet- 
haps  I  should  think  him  cleverer.  ..."  I  thought  rather 
oddly.  I  went  up  to  the  table,  and  read  the  letter  to  Versilov 
once  more.  In  my  abstraction  I  didn't  notice  the  time,  but  when 
I  roused  myself  I  found  that  the  prince's  minute  had  lasted 
at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  This  disturbed  me  a  little ;  I 
walked  up  and  down  once  more,  at  last  I  took  my  hat  and 
decided.  I  remember,  to  go  out  to  try  and  find  some  one  to  send 

189 


to  Prince  Sergay,  and  when  he  came,  to  say  good-bye  to  him  at 
once,  declaring  that  I  had  work  to  do  and  could  stay  no  longer. 
I  fancied  that  that  would  be  the  most  suitable  thing  to  do,  for  I 
was  rather  tormented  by  the  idea  that  he  was  treating  me  very 
casually  in  leaving  me  so  long. 

There  were  two  doors  in  the  room,  both  shut,  and  on  the  same 
side,  one  at  each  end  of  it.  Forgetting  which  door  I  had  come 
in  by,  or  rather  lost  in  thought,  I  opened  one  of  them,  and  suddenly, 
in  a  long  narrow  room,  I  saw,  sitting  on  the  sofa,  my  sister  Liza. 
There  was  no  one  else  in  the  room  and  she  was  certainly  waiting 
for  some  one.  But  before  I  had  time  even  to  feel  surprised,  I 
heard  the  voice  of  Prince  Sergay  speaking  loudly  to  some  one, 
and  returning  to  the  study.  I  hurriedly  closed  the  door  and 
Prince  Sergay,  coming  in  at  the  other,  noticed  nothing.  I 
remember  he  began  to  apologize  and  said  something  about 
"  Anna  Fyodorovna."  But  I  was  so  amazed  and  confused  that 
I  hardly  took  in  what  he  said,  and  could  only  mutter  that  I 
simply  must  go  home,  and  stubbornly  persisting  in  this,  I  beat  a 
hasty  retreat.  The  well-bred  prince  must  have  looked  with 
curiosity  at  my  manners.  He  came  with  me  right  into  the 
hall,  still  talking,  and  I  neither  answered  nor  looked  at  him. 


I  turned  to  the  left  when  I  got  into  the  street  and  walked 
away  at  random.  There  was  nothing  coherent  in  my  mind. 
I  walked  along  slowly  and  I  believe  I  had  walked  a  good 
way,  some  five  hundred  paces,  when  I  felt  a  light  tap  on 
my  shoulder.  I  turned  and  saw  Liza ;  she  had  overtaken  me 
and  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder  with  her  umbrella.  There 
was  a  wonderful  gaiety  and  a  touch  of  roguishness  in  her 
beaming  eyes. 

"  How  glad  I  am  you  came  this  way,  or  I  shouldn't  have  met 
you  to-day  !  "  She  was  a  little  out  of  breath  from  walking 
fast. 

"  How  breathless  you  are." 

"  I've  been  running  so  as  to  catch  you  up.*' 

"  Liza,  was  it  you  I  saw  just  now  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  At  the  prince's.  ...  At  Prince  Sokolsky's.'* 

"  No,  't  wasn't  me.     You  didn't  see  me.  .  .  .'* 

190 


I  made  no  answer  and  we  walked  on  for  ten  paces.  Liza  burst 
into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

"  It  was  me,  of  course  it  was  I  Why,  you  saw  me  yourself, 
you  looked  into  my  eyes,  and  I  looked  into  yours,  so  hov/  can 
you  ask  whether  you  saw  me  ?  What  a  character  !  And  do 
you  know  I  dreadfully  wanted  to  laugh  when  you  looked  at  me 
then.     You  looked  so  awfully  funny." 

She  laughed  violently.  I  felt  all  the  anguish  in  my  heart 
fade  away  at  once. 

"  But  tell  me  how  did  you  come  to  be  there  ?  " 

"  To  see  Anna  Fyodorovna." 

"  What  Anna  Fyodorovna  ?  " 

"  Mme.  Stolbyeev.  When  we  were  staying  in  Luga  I  used  to 
spend  whole  days  with  her.  She  used  to  receive  mother,  too,  and 
used  even  to  come  and  see  us,  though  she  visited  scarcely  anyone 
else  there.  She  is  a  distant  relation  of  Andrey  Petrovitch's, 
and  a  relation  of  Prince  Sokolsky's  too  :  she's  a  sort  of  old 
aunt  of  his." 

"  Then  she  lives  at  Prince  Sokobky's  ?  " 

"  No,  he  lives  with  her." 

"  Then  whose  flat  is  it  ?  " 

"  It's  her  flat.  The  whole  flat  has  been  hers  for  the  last 
year.  Prince  Sokolsky  has  only  just  arrived  and  is  staying 
with  her.  Yes,  and  she's  only  been  in  Petersburg  four  days 
herself." 

"  I  say,  Liza,  bother  her  flat  and  her  too  ! " 

"  No,  she's  splendid." 

"  Well,  let  her  be,  that's  her  affair.  We're  splendid  too  ! 
See  what  a  day  it  is,  see  how  jolly  !  How  pretty  you  are  to-day, 
Liza.     But  you're  an  awful  baby  though." 

"  Arkady,  tell  me,  that  girl,  the  one  who  came  yesterday.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  the  pity  of  it,  Liza  !     The  pity  of  it  !  " 

"  Ach,  what  a  pity  !  What  a  fate  !  Do  you  know  it's  a 
sin  for  us  to  be  walking  here  so  happily  while  her  soul  is  hovering 
somewhere  in  darkness,  in  some  unfathomable  darimess,  after 
her  sin  and  the  wrong  done  her.  .  ,  .  Arkady,  who  was  respon- 
sible for  her  suicide  ?  Oh,  how  terrible  it  is  !  Do  you  ever 
think  of  that  outer  darkness  ?  Ach,  how  I  fear  death,  and  how 
sinful  it  is.  I  don't  like  the  dark,  what  a  glorious  thing  the  sun 
is  !  Mother  says  it's  a  sin  to  be  afraid.  .  .  .  Arkady,  do  you 
know  mother  well  ?  " 

"  Very  little,  Liza.     Very  little  so  far." 

191 


"  Ah,  what  a  wonderful  person  she  is  ;  and  you  ought  to  get 
to  know  her  !     She  needs  understanding.  ..." 

"  Yes,  but  you  see,  I  didn't  know  you  either ;  but  I  know 
you  now,  thoroughly.  I've  found  you  out  altogether  in  one 
minute.  Though  you  are  afraid  of  death,  Liza,  you  must  be 
proud,  bold,  plucky.  Better  than  I  am,  ever  so  much  better  I 
I  like  you  awfully,  Liza.  Ach,  Liza  !  let  death  come  when 
it  must,  but  meantime  let  us  live — let  us  live  !  Oh,  let  us  pity 
that  poor  girl,  but  let  us  bless  life  all  the  same  !  Don't  you 
think  so  ?  I  have  an  '  idea,'  Liza.  Liza,  зюи  know,  of  course, 
that  Versilov  has  refused  to  take  the  fortune  ?  You  don't 
know  my  soul,  Liza,  you  don't  know  what  that  man  has  meant 
to  me.  .  .  ." 

"  Not  know  indeed  !     I  know  all  that." 

"  You  know  all  about  it  ?  But,  of  course,  you  would  ! 
You're  clever,  cleverer  than  Vassin.  Mother  and  you  have  eyes 
that  are  penetrating  and  humane,  I  mean  a  point  of  view  that 
is.  I'm  talking  nonsense.  .  .  .  Liza,  I'm  not  good  for  much,  in 
lots  of  ways." 

"  You  want  taking  in  hand,  that's  all." 

"  Take  me  in  hand,  Liza.  How  nice  it  is  to  look  at  you 
to-day.  Do  you  know  that  you  are  very  pretty  ?  I  have 
never  seen  your  eyes  before.  .  .  .  I've  only  seen  them  for  the 
first  time  to-day  .  .  .  where  did  you  get  them  to-day,  Liza  ? 
Where  have  you  bought  them  ?  What  price  have  you  paid 
for  them  ?  Liza,  I've  never  had  a  friend,  and  I've  thought 
the  idea  of  friendship  nonsense  ;  but  it's  not  nonsense  with 
you.  .  ,  .  Shall  we  be  friends  !  You  understand  what  I 
mean  ?  " 

"  I  quite  understand." 

"  And  you  know — we'll  simply  be  friends,  no  conditions, 
no  contract." 

"  Yes,  simply,  simply,  with  only  one  condition  :  that  if  we 
ever  blame  one  another,  if  we're  displeased  about  anything, 
if  we  become  nasty  and  horrid,  even  if  we  forget  all  this, — we 
will  never  forget  this  day,  and  this  hour  !  Let's  vow  that  to 
ourselves.  Let  us  vow  that  we  will  always  remember  this  day 
and  how  we  walked  arm  in  arm  together,  and  how  we  laughed 
and  were  gay.  .  .  .  Yes  ?     Shall  we  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Liza,  yes,  I  swear.  But,  Liza,  I  feel  as  though  I'm 
hearing  you  talk  for  the  first  time.  .  .  .  Liza,  have  j'ou  read 
much  1  " 

192 


"  He  has  never  asked  till  now  !  Only  yesterday  for  the  first 
time,  when  I  said  something,  you  deigned  to  notice  me,  honoured 
sir,  Mr.  Wiseacre." 

"  But  why  didn't  j'ou  begin  to  talk  to  me  if  I've  been  such  a 
fool  ?  " 

'■  I  k(^pt  expecting  you'd  grow  wiser.  I've  been  watching 
you  from  the  very  first,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  and  as  I  watched 
you  I  said  to  myself  '  he'll  come  to  me,  it's  bound  to  end  in  his 
coming  ' — and  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  better  leave  you  the 
honour  of  taking  the  first  step.  '  No,'  I  said  to  myself,  '  you  can 
run  after  me.'  " 

"  Ah,  you  coquette  !  Come,  Liza,  tell  me  honestly,  have  you 
been  laughing  at  me  for  the  last  month  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  are  funny,  you're  awfully  funny,  Arkady  !  And 
do  you  know,  what  I've  been  loving  you  for  most  all  this  month 
U  your  being  so  queer.  But  iA  some  ways  you're  a  horrid  toy 
too — I  say  that  for  fear  you  should  grow  conceited.  And  do 
you  know  who  else  has  been  laughing  at  you  ?  Mother's 
been  laughing  at  you,  mother  and  I  together.  *  Oh  my,'  we 
whispered,  '  what  a  queer  boy  !  My  goodness,  what  a  queer 
boy  ! '  And  you  sat  all  the  while  imagining  that  we 
trembling  before  you." 

"  Liza,  what  do  you  think  about  Versilov  ?  " 

"  I  think  a  great  deal  about  him  ;  but  we  won't  tall 
him  just  now,  you  know.  There's  no  need  to  talk  of  him 
is  there  ?  " 

"  Quite  so  !  Yes,  you're  awfully  clever,  Liza !  You  are 
certainly  cleverer  than  I  am.  You  wait  a  bit,  Liza,  I'll  make 
an  end  of  all  this,  and  then  I  shall  have  something  to  tell  you.  .  .  .'* 

"  What  are  you  frowning  at  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  frowning,  Liza,  it's  nothing.  .  .  .  You  see,  Liza, 
it's  best  to  be  open  :  it's  a  peculiarity  of  mine  that  I  don't  like 
some  tender  spots  on  my  soul  being  touched  upon  ...  or 
rather,  it's  shameful  to  be  often  displaying  certain  feelings 
for  the  admiration  of  all,  isn't  it  ?  So  that  I  sometimee 
prefer  to  frown  and  hold  my  tongue.  You're  clever,  you  must 
understand." 

"  Yes,  and  what's  more,  I'm  the  same  myself  ;  I  understand 
you  in  everything.  Do  you  know  that  mother's  the  same 
too  ? 

"  Ah,  Liza  !     Oh,  to  live  a  long  while  on  this  earth  !     Ah 
\^Ъat  did  you  say  ?  " 

193 


"  I  said  nothing." 

"  You're  looking  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  so  are  you.     I  look  at  you  and  love  you." 

I  went  with  her  almost  all  the  way  home  and  gave  her  my 
address.  As  we  parted,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  kissed 
her.  .  .  • 


And  all  this  would  have  been  very  nice  but  there  was  one  thing 
that  was  not  nice  :  one  painful  thought  had  been  throbbing 
in  my  mind  all  night  and  I  could  not  shake  it  off.  This  was, 
that  when  I  had  met  that  unhappy  girl  at  the  gate  I  told  her 
I  was  leaving  the  house  myself,  leaving  home,  that  one  left 
bad  people  and  made  a  home  for  oneself,  and  that  Versilov  had 
a  lot  of  illegitimate  children.  Such  words  from  a  son  about  his 
father  must,  of  course,  have  confirmed  all  her  suspicions  of 
Versilov's  character  and  of  his  having  insulted  her.  I  had 
blamed  Stebelkov,  but  perhaps  I  had  been  the  chief  one  to  pour 
oil  on  the  flames.     That  thought  was  awful,  it  is  awful  even  now. 

■BB,^.  But  then,  that  morning,  though  I'd  begun  to  be  uneasy, 
to-od  myself  it  was  all  nonsense.     "  Oh,  '  things  had  gone  too  far 

yievejy'  apart  from  me,"  I  repeated  from  time  to  time,  "it's 
n9*mng  ;    it  will  pass  !      I  shall  get  over  it.     I  ehall  make  up 
for  this  somehow,  I've  fifty  years  before  me  I  " 
But  yet  the  idea  haunted  me. 


194 


begin  I 
s    ancU^ 

пНгае 


PART    II 

CHAPTER  I 

1 

I  PASS  over  an  interval  of  almost  two  months.  The  reader  need 
not  be  uneasy,  everything  л\111  be  clear  from  the  latter  part  of 
my  story.  I  start  again  from  the  15th  of  November,  a  day  I 
remember  only  too  well  for  many  reasons.  To  begin  with,  no 
one  who  had  known  me  two  months  before  would  have  recognized 
me,  external!}'  anyway,  that  is  to  say,  anyone  луоиЫ  have  known 
me  but  would  not  have  been  able  to  make  me  out.  To  begin  \ 
with  I  was  dressed  like  a  dandy.  The  conscientious  •^"'^  ^ 
tasteful  Frenchman,  whom  Versilov  had  once  tried  to  re 
mend  me,  had  not  only  made  me  a  v»hole  suit,  but  had  al 
been  rejected  as  not  good  enough.  I  already  had  suits 
by  other,  superior,  tailors,  of  a  better  class,  and  I  even  ran  up 
bills  with  them.  I  had  an  account,  too,  at  a  celebrated 
restaurant,  but  I  was  still  a  little  nervous  there  and  paid  on  the 
spot  whenever  I  had  money,  though  I  knew  it  was  mauvais  ton, 
and  that  I  was  compromising  myself  by  doing  so.  A  French 
barber  on  the  Xevsky  Prospect  лvas  on  familiar  terms  with  me, 
and  told  me  anecdotes  as  he  dressed  my  hair.  And  I  must 
confess  I  practised  my  French  on  him.  Though  I  know  French, 
and  fairly  well  indeed,  yet  Fm  afraid  of  beginning  to  speak  it 
in  grand  society ;  and  I  dare  say  ray  accent  is  far  from  Parisian. 
I  have  a  smart  coachman,  Matvey,  with  a  smart  turn-out,  and 
he  is  always  at  mj'  service  when  I  send  for  him  ;  he  has  a  pale 
sorrel  horse,  a  fast  trotter  (I  don't  like  greys).  Everything  is  not 
perfect,  however  :  it's  the  15th  of  November  and  has  been 
wintry  weather  for  the  last  three  days,  and  my  fur  coat  is  an  old 
one,  lined  with  raccoon,  that  once  was  Versilov's.  It  wouldn't 
fetch  more  than  twentj'-five  roubles.  I  must  get  a  пелу  one, 
and  my  pocket  is  empty,  and  I  must,  besides,  have  money  in 

195 


1 


reserve  for  this  evening  Avhatever  happens — without  that  I 
shall  be  ruined  and  miserable  :  that  was  how  I  put  it  to  myself 
аъ  the  time.  Oh,  degradation  !  Where  had  these  thousands 
come  from,  these  fast  trotters,  these  expensive  restaurants  ? 
How  could  I  all  at  once  change  like  this  and  forget  everything  ? 
Shame  !  Reader,  I  am  beginning  now  the  story  of  my  shame 
and  disgrace,  and  nothing  in  life  can  be  more  shameful  to  me 
than  these  recollections. 

I  speak  as  a  judge  and  I  know  that  I  was  guilty.  Even  in  the 
whirl  in  which  I  was  caught  up,  and  though  I  was  alone  without 
a  guide  or  counsellor,  I  was,  I  swear,  conscious  of  my  downfall, 
and  so  there's  no  excuse  for  me.  And  yet,  for  those  two  months 
I  was  almost  happy — why  almost  ?  I  was  quite  happy  !  And 
so  happy — would  it  be  believed — that  the  consciousness  of  my 
degradation,  of  which  I  had  glimpses  at  moments  (frequent 
mommts  !)  and  which  made  me  shudder  in  my  inmost  soul, 
only  intoxicated  me  the  more.  "  What  do  I  care  if  I'm  fallen  ! 
And  I  won't  fall,  I'll  get  out  of  it  !  I  have  a  lucky  star  !  "  I  was 
crossing  a  precipice  on  a  thin  plank  without  a  rail,  and  I  was 
pleased  at  my  position,  and  even  peeped  into  the  abyss.  It  was 
risky  and  it  was  deUghtful.  And  "  my  idea  ?  "  My  "  idea  " 
later,  the  idea  would  wait.  Everything  that  happened  was 
SHaply  "  a  temporary  deviation."  "  Why  not  enjoy  oneself  ?  " 
Tnat's  what  was  amiss  with  my  idea,  I  rt  ])eat,  it  admitted  of  all 
sorts  of  deviations ;  if  it  had  not  been  so  firm  and  fundamental  I 
might  have  been  afraid  of  deviating. 

And  meanwhile  I  kept  on  the  same  humble  lodging  ;  I  kept 
it  on  but  I  didn't  live  in  it ;  there  I  kept  my  trunk,  my  bag, 
and  my  various  properties.  But  I  really  Hved  A^ith  Prince  Sergay. 
I  spent  my  days  there  and  I  slept  there  at  night,  ^^nd  this  went 
on  for  weeks.  .  .  .  How  this  came  to  pass  I'll  tell  in  a  minute, 
but  meanwhile  I  will  describe  my  little  lodging.  It  was  already 
dear  to  me.  Versilov  had  come  to  see  me  there  of  himself,  first 
of  all  after  our  quarrel,  and  often  subsequently.  I  repeat,  this 
was  a  period  of  shame  but  of  great  happiness.  .  .  .  Yes,  and 
everything  at  that  time  was  so  successful  and  so  smiling.  "  And 
what  was  all  that  depression  in  the  past  about  ?  "  I  wondered  in 
some  ecstatic  moments,  "  why  those  old  painful  self- lacerations, 
my  solitary  and  gloomy  childhood,  my  foolish  dreams  under  my 
quilt,  my  vows,  my  calculations,  even  my  '  idea  '  ?  I  imagined 
and  invented  all  that,  and  it  turns  out  that  the  world's  not  like 
that  at  all ;    see  how  happy  and  gay  I  am  :    I  have  a  father — 

196 


Versilov  ;  I  have  a  friend — Prmce  Sergay  ;  I  have  besides  .  .  . 
but  that  'be-bidos'  we'll  leave." 

Alas,  it  was  all  done  in  the  name  of  love,  magnanimity, 
honour,  and  afterwards  it  turned  out  hideous,  shameless  and 
ignominious. 

Enough, 

2 

He  came  to  see  mo  for  the  first  time  three  daj's  after  our 
rupture.  I  was  not  at  home,  and  he  waited  for  me.  Though 
I  had  been  expecting  him  everyday,  when  I  went  into  my  tiny 
cupboard  of  a  room  there  was  a  mist  before  my  eyes,  and  my 
heart  beat  so  violently  that  I  stopped  short  in  the  doorway. 
Fortunatelj''  my  landlord  was  Avith  him,  having  thought  it 
necessary  to  introduce  himself  at  once,  that  the  visitor  might 
not  be  bored  with  ^vaiting.  He  was  eagerh''  describing  Fome- 
thing  to  Versilov.  He  was  a  titular  counsellor,  a  man  about 
forty,  much  disfigured  by  small-pox,  very  poor,  and  burdened 
with  a  consumptive  wife  and  an  invalid  child.  He  was  of  a 
very  communicative  and  unassuming  character,  but  not  without 
tact.  I  was  relieved  at  his  presence,  which  was  a  positive 
deliverance  for  me,  for  what  could  I  have  said  to  Versilov  ? 
I  had  known,  kno^^n  in  earnest  that  Versilov  would  come  of  his 
own  prompting — exactly  as  I  wanted  him  to,  for  nothing  in  the 
world  would  have  induced  me  to  go  to  him  first,  and  not  from 
obstinacy,  but  jiist  from  love  of  him  :  a  sort  of  jealous  love — 
I  can't  express  it.  Indeed,  the  reader  won't  find  me  eloquent 
at  any  time.  But  though  I  had  been  expecting  him  for  those 
three  daj^s,  and  had  been  continually  picturing  how  he  Avould 
come  in,  j^et  though  I  tried  my  utmost,  I  could  not  imagine 
what  we  should  say  to  one  another  at  first,  after  all  that  had 
happened. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are  !  "  he  said  to  me  affectionately,  holding 
out  his  hand  and  not  getting  up.  "  Sit  down  with  us  ;  Pyotr 
Ippolitovitch  is  tellmg  me  something  very  interesting  about 
that  stone  near  the  Pavlovsky  barracks  ...  or  somewhere  in 
that  direction." 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  stone,"  I  made  haste  to  answer,  dropping 
into  a  chair  beside  him.  They  were  sitting  at  the  table. 
The  whole  room  was  just  fourteen  feet  square.  I  drew  a  deep 
breath. 

There  was  a  gleam  of  pleasure  in  Versilov's  eyes.     I  believe 

197 


he  was  uncertain,  and  afraid  I  should  be  demonstrative.     He 
was  reassured. 

"  You  must  begin  again,  Pyotr  Ippohtovitch."  They  were 
already  calling  each  other  by  their  names. 

"  It  happened  in  the  reign  of  the  late  Tsar,"  Pyotr  Ippohto- 
vitch said,  addressing  me  nervously  and  v/ith  some  uneasiness, 
anxious  as  to  the  effect  of  his  story.  "  You  know  that  stone — a 
stupid  stone  in  the  street,  and  what  use  is  it,  it's  only  in  the  way, 
you'd  say,  wouldn't  you  ?  The  Tsar  rode  by  several  times, 
and  every  time  there  was  the  stone.  At  last  the  Tsar  was 
displeased,  and  with  good  reason  ;  a  rock,  a  regular  rock  standing 
in  the  street,  spoiling  it.  '  Remove  the  stone  ! '  Well,  he  said 
remove  it — ^you  understand  what  that  means — '  remove  the 
stone  ! '  The  late  Tsar — do  you  remember  him  ?  What  was 
to  be  done  with  the  stone  ?  They  all  lost  their  heads,  there  was 
the  town  council,  and  a  most  important  person,  I  can't  remember 
his  name,  one  of  the  greatest  personages  of  the  time,  who  was 
put  in  charge  of  the  matter.  Well,  this  great  personage  listened  ; 
they  told  him  it  would  cost  fifteen  thousand  roubles,  no  less, 
and  in  silver  too  (for  it  was  not  till  the  time  of  the  late  Tsar  that 
paper  money  could  be  changed  into  silver).  '  Fifteen  thousand, 
what  a  sum  ! '  At  first  the  English  wanted  to  bring  rails,  and 
remove  it  by  steam  ;  but  think  what  that  would  have  cost ! 
There  were  no  railways  then,  there  was  only  one  ruiming  to 
Tsarskoe-Selo." 

*'  Why,  they  might  have  smashed  it  up  !  "  I  cried,  frowning. 
I  felt  horribly  vexed  and  ashamed  in  Ver.^lov's  presence.  But 
he  was  listening  with  evident  pleasure.  I  understood  that  he  was 
glad  to  have  the  landlord  there,  as  he  too  was  abashed  with  me. 
I  saw  that.     I  remember  I  felt  it  somehow  touching  in  him. 

"  Smash  it  up  !  Yes,  that  was  the  very  idea  they  arrived 
at.  And  Montferant,  too, — he  was  building  St.  Isaak's  Cathedral 
at  the  time. — Smash  it  up,  he  said,  and  then  take  it  away. 
But  what  would  that  cost  ?  " 

"  It  would  cost  nothing.  Simply  break  it  up  and  carry  it 
away." 

"  No,  excuse  me,  a  machine  would  be  wanted  to  do  it,  a  steam- 
engine,  and  besides,  where  could  it  be  taken  ?  And  such  a 
mountain,  too  !  '  Ten  thousand,'  they  said,  '  not  less  than  ten 
or  twelve  thou.^and.'  " 

"  I  say,  Pyotr  Ippohtovitch,  that's  nonsense,  you  know.  It 
couldn't  have  been  so.  .  .  ." 

198 


But  at  that  instant  Versilov  winked  at  me  unseen,  and  in 
that  wink  I  saw  such  delicate  compassion  for  the  landlord,  even 
distress  on  his  account,  that  I  was  delighted  with  it,  and  I 
laughed. 

"  Well,  well  then,"  cried  the  landlord,  delighted ;  he  had 
noticed  nothing,  and  was  awfully  afraid,  as  such  story-tellers 
always  are,  that  he  would  be  pestered  with  questions ;  "  but 
then  a  Russian  workman  walks  up,  a  young  fellow,  you  know 
the  typical  Russian,  with  a  beard  like  a  wedge,  in  a  long-skirted 
coat,  and  perhaps  a  little  drunk  too  .  .  .  but  no,  he  wasn't 
drunk.  He  just  stands  by  while  those  Englishmen  and  Mont- 
ferant  are  talking  away,  and  that  great  personage  drives  up  just 
then  in  his  carriage,  and  listens,  and  gets  angry  at  the  way  they 
keep  discussing  it  and  can't  decide  on  anything.  And  suddenly 
he  notices  the  workman  at  a  distance  standing  there  and  smiling 
deceitfully,  that  is,  not  deceitfully  though,  I'm  wrong  there,  what 
is  it  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Derisively,"  Versilov  prompted  him  discreetly. 

"  Derisively,  yes,  a  little  derisively,  that  kind,  good  Russian 
smile,  you  know ;  the  great  personage  was  in  a  bad  humour, 
you  understand  :  *  What  are  you  waiting  here  for,  big  beard  ?  ' 
said  he.     '  Who  are  you  ?  * 

"  '  Why,  I'm  looking  at  this  stone  here,  your  Highness,'  says 
he.  Yes,  I  believe  he  said  Highness,  and  I  fancy  it  was  Prince 
Suvorov,  the  Italian  one,  the  ancestor  of  the  general,  .  .  .  But 
no,  it  was  not  Suvorov,  and  I'm  so  sorry  I've  forgotten  who  it 
was  exactly,  but  though  he  was  a  Highness  he  was  a  genuine 
thorough-bred  Russian,  a  Russian  type,  a  patriot,  a  cultured 
Russian  heart ;   well,  he  saw  what  was  up. 

"  '  What  is  it,'  says  he.  '  Do  you  want  to  take  away  the 
stone  ?     What  are  you  sniggering  about  ?  ' 

"  '  At  the  Englishmen,  chiefly,  your  Highness.  They  ask  a 
prodigious  price  because  the  Russian  purse  is  fat,  and  they've 
nothing  to  eat  at  home.  Let  mo  have  a  hundred  roubles,  your 
Highness,*  says  he ;  'by  to-morrow  evening  we'll  move  the 
stone.' 

"  Can  you  imagine  such  a  proposition  ?  The  English,  of 
course,  are  ready  to  devour  him  ;  Montferant  laughs.  But  tha* 
Highness  with  the  pure  Russian  heart  says  :  '  Give  him  a 
hundred  roubles  !     But  surely  you  won't  remove  it  ?  '  eays  he. 

"  *  To-morrow  evening,  your  Highness,  we'll  ha\e  it  on  the 
move.'  says  he. 

199 


"  '  But  how  wm  you  do  it  ?  ' 

"  *  If  you'll  excuse  me,  your  Highness,  that's  our  secret,'  he 
says,  and  in  that  Russian  way,  you  know.  It  pleased  him  : 
Hey,  give  him  anything  he  wants.'  And  so  they  left  it.  What 
would  you  suppose  he  did  ?  " 

The  landlord  paused,  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with 
a  iace  full  of  sentiment. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Versilov,  smiling  ;   I  scowled. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  he  did,"  said  the  landlord,  with  as 
much  triumph  as  though  it  were  hLs  own  achievement,  "  he 
hired  some  peasants  with  spades,  simple  Russians,  and  began 
digging  a  deep  hole  just  at  the  edge  of  it.  They  were  digging 
all  night ;  the}'  dug  an  immense  hole  as  big  as  the  stone  and 
just  about  an  inch  and  a  half  deeper,  and  when  they  dug  it 
out  he  told  them  to  dig  out  the  earth  from  under  the  stcne, 
cautiously,  little  by  little.  Well,  naturally,  as  they'd  dug  the 
earth  away  the  stone  had  nothing  to  stand  upon,  it  began  to 
overbalance  ;  and  as  soon  as  it  began  to  shake  they  pushed 
with  their  hands  upon  the  stone,  shouting  hurrah,  in  true  Russian 
style,  and  the  stone  fell  with  a  crash  into  the  hole  !  Then  they 
shovelled  earth  on  it,  rammed  it  down  \vith  a  mallet,  paved  it 
over  with  little  stones — the  road  was  smooth,  the  stone  had 
disappeared  !  " 

"  Only  fancy  !  "  cried  Versilov. 

"  The  people  rushed  up  to  be  sure,  in  multitudes  innumerable  ; 
the  Englishmen  had  seen  how  it  would  be  long  before  ;  they 
were  furious.  Montferant  came  up  :  '  That's  the  peasant  style,* 
says  he,  '  it's  too  simple,'  says  he.  '  That's  just  it,  that  it's  so 
simple,  but  you  never  thought  of  it,  you  fools  !  '  And  so  I  tell 
you  that  commander,  that  great  personage,  simply  embraced 
him  and  kissed  him.  '  And  where  do  you  come  from  ?  '  says 
he.  '  From  the  province  of  Yaroslav,  your  Excellency,  we're 
tailors  by  trade,  a'ld  we  come  to  Petersburg  in  the  summer  to 
sell  fruit.'  Well,  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  authorities  ;  the 
authorities  ordered  a  medal  to  be  given  him,  so  he  went  about 
with  a  medal  on  his  neck  ;  but  he  drank  himself  to  death  after- 
wards, they  say  ;  you  know  the  typical  Russian,  he  has  no 
self-restraint  !  That's  why  the  foreigners  have  got  the  better 
of  us  so  far,  yes,  there  it  is  !  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,  the  Russian  mind.  ..."  Versilov  was 
beginning. 

But  at  this  point,  luckily,  the  landlord  was  called  away  by 

200 


his  invalid  wife,  and  hastened  off,  or  I  should  have  been  un- 
able to  restrain  myself.     Versilov  laughed. 

"  He's  been  entertaming  me  for  a  whole  hour,  my  dear.  That 
stone  ...  is  the  very  model  of  patriotic  unseemliness  among 
such  stories,  but  how  could  I  interrupt  him  ?  As  you  saw, 
he  was  melting  with  delight.  And  what's  more,  I  beUeve  the 
stone's  there  still,  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  and  hasn't  been  buried 
in  the  hole  at  all." 

"  Good  heavens,  yes  !  "  I  cried,  "  that's  true  !  How  could 
he  dare  !  .  .  ." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Why,.!  believe  you're  really  indignant ; 
he  certainly  has  muddled  things  up.  I  heard  a  story  of  the  sort 
about  a  stone  when  I  was  a  child,  only  of  course  it  was  a  little 
different,  and  not  about  the  same  stone.  That  '  it  came  to  the 
ears  of  the  authorities  ! '  Why,  there  was  a  psean  of  glory  in  his 
heart  when  he  uttered  that  phrase  '  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
authorities.'  In  the  pitiful  nairrowness  of  their  lives  they  can't 
get  on  without  such  stories.  They  have  numbers  of  them, 
chiefly  owing  to  their  incontinence.  They've  learnt  nothing, 
they  know  nothing  exactly,  and  they  have  a  longing  to  talk 
about  something  besides  cards  and  their  wares,  something  of 
universal  interest,  something  poetic.  .  .  .  What  sort  of  man  is 
this  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  ?  " 

"  A  very  poor  creature,  and  unfortunate  too." 

"  Well,  there,  you  see,  perhaps  he  doesn't  even  play  cards, 
I  repeat,  in  telling  that  foolish  story  he  was  satisfying  his  love 
for  his  neighbour  :  you  see,  he  wanted  to  make  us  happy.  His 
sentiment  of  patriotism  was  gratified  too  ;  they've  got  another 
story,  for  instance,  that  the  English  gave  Zavj^alov  a  million  on 
condition  that  he  shouldn't  put  his  stamp  on  his  handiwork," 

"  Oh,  goodness,  I've  heard  that  story  too," 

"  Who  hasn't  heard  it,  and  the  teller  of  it  knows,  too,  that 
you  have  heard  it.  but  still  he  tells  it,  intentionally  suipjiosing  that 
you  haven't.  The  vision  of  the  Swedish  king,  I  believe,  is  a 
little  out  of  date  with  them  now,  but  in  my  youth  it  used  to  be 
repeated  unctuously,  in  a  mysterious  whisper.  And  so  was  the 
story  of  some  one's  having  knelt  in  the  Senate  before  the  Senators 
at  the  beginning  of  last  century.  There  were  lots  of  anecdotes 
about  Commander  Bashutsky,  too,  how  he  carried  away  a 
monument.  They  simply  love  anecdotes  of  the  court ;  for 
instance,  tales  of  Tchernyshev,  a  minister  in  the  last  reign,  how 
when  he  was  an  old  man  of  seventy  he  got  himself  up  to  look 

201 


like  a  man  of  thirty,  so  much  so  that  the  late  Tsar  was  amazed 
at  the  levees.  .  .  ." 

"  I've  heard  that  too." 

"  Who  hasn't  heard  it  ?  All  these  anecdotes  are  the  height 
of  indecency  ;  but,  let  me  tell  you,  this  kind  of  indecency  is  far 
more  deeply  rooted  and  widely  spread  than  we  imagine.  The 
desire  to  lie  with  the  object  of  giving  pleasure  to  your  neighbour 
one  meets  even  in  Russian  society  of  the  highest  breeding,  for 
we  all  suffer  from  this  incontinence  of  our  hearts.  Only* anec- 
dotes of  a  different  type  are  current  among  us  :  the  number  of 
stories  they  tell  about  America  is  simply  amazing,  and  they're 
told  by  men  even  of  ministerial  rank !  I  must  confess  I  belong 
to  that  indecent  class  myself,  and  I've  suffered  from  it  all  my 
life." 

"I've  told  anecdotes  about  Tchernyshev  several  times 
myself." 

"  You've  told  them  yourself  ?  " 

"  There's  another  lodger  here  besides  me,  marked  with  small- 
pox too,  ДП  old  clerk,  but  he's  awfully  prosaic,  and  as  soon  as 
Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  begins  to  speak  he  tries  to  refute  him  and 
contradict.  He's  reduced  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  to  such  a  point 
that  he  waits  on  the  old  fellow  like  a  slave,  and  does  everything 
to  please  him,  simply  to  make  him  listen." 

"  That's  another  type  of  the  indecent,  one  even  perhaps 
more  revolting  than  the  first.  The  first  sort  is  all  ecstasy ! 
'  You  only  let  me  he,'  he  seems  to  say,  '  you'll  see  how  nice  it 
will  be.'  The  second  sort  is  all  spleen  and  prose.  '  I  won't  let 
you  lie,'  he  says,  '  where,  when,  in  what  year  1  ' — in  fact  a  man 
with  no  heart.  My  dear  boy,  we  must  always  let  a  man  lie  a 
little.  It's  quite  innocent.  Indeed  we  may  let  him  lie  a  great 
deal.  In  the  first  place  it  will  show  our  delicacy,  and  secondly, 
people  will  let  us  lie  in  return — two  immense  advantages  at 
once.  Que  diable  !  one  must  love  one's  neighbour.  But  it's 
time  for  me  to  be  off.  You've  arranged  the  place  charmingly," 
he  added,  getting  up  from  his  chair.  "  I'll  tell  Sofia  Andreyevna 
and  your  sister  that  I've  been  here  and  found  you  quite  well. 
Grood-bye,  my  dear." 

Could  this  be  all  ?  This  was  not  at  all  what  I  wanted.  I  was 
expecting  something  different,  something  important,  though  I 
quite  understood  that  this  was  how  it  must  be.  I  got  up  with 
a  candle  to  light  him  down  the  stairs.  The  landlord  would  have 
come  forward,  but  without  Verailov's  seeing  it  I  seized  him  by 

202 


the  arm  and  thrust  him  back  savagely.  He  stared  with  astonish- 
ment, but  immediately  vanished. 

"  These  staircases  .  .  ."  Versilov  mumbled,  dwelling  on  the 
syllables  evidently  in  order  to  say  something,  and  evidently 
afraid  I  might  say  something,  "  I'm  no  longer  used  to  such 
stairs,  and  you're  on  the  third  storey,  but  now  I  can  find  the 
way.  .  .  .  Don't  trouble,  my  dear,  you'll  catch  cold,  too." 

But  I  did  not  leave  him.  We  were  going  down  the  second 
flight.  .  .  . 

"I've  been  expecting  you  for  the  last  three  days,"  broke  from 
me  suddenly,  as  it  were  of  itself  ;  I  was  breathless. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear." 

"  I  knew  you'd  be  sure  to  come." 

"  And  I  knew  that  you  knew  I  should  be  sure  to  come.  Thank 
you,  my  dear." 

He  was  silent.  We  had  reached  the  outer  door,  and  I  still 
followed  him.  He  opened  the  door  ;  the  wind  rushing  in  blew 
out  my  candle.  Then  I  clutched  his  hand.  It  was  pitch  dark. 
He  started  but  said  nothing.  I  stooped  over  his  hand  and 
kissed  it  greedily  several  times,  many  times. 

"  My  darling  boy,  why  do  you  love  me  so  much  1  "  he  said, 
but  in  quite  a  different  voice.  His  voice  quivered,  there  was  a 
ring  of  something  quite  new  in  it  as  though  it  were  not  he  who 
spoke. 

I  tried  to  answer  something,  but  couldn't,  and  ran  upstairs. 
He  stood  waiting  where  he  was,  and  it  was  only  when  I  was 
back  in  the  flat  that  I  heard  the  front  door  open  and  shut  with 
a  slam.  I  slipped  by  the  landlord,  who  tm'ned  щ:>  again,  and 
went  into  my  room,  fastened  the  latch,  and  without  Ughting 
the  candle  threw  myself  on  my  bed,  buried  my  face  in  the  piUow 
and  cried  and  cried.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  cried  since  I 
was  at  Touchard's.  My  sobs  were  so  violent,  ar.d  I  was  so  happy 
.  .  .  but  why  describe  it  ? 

I  write  this  now  without  being  ashamed  of  it,  for  perhaps  it 
was  all  good,  in  spite  of  its  absurdity. 


But  didn't  I  make  him  suffer  for  it !  I  became  frightfully 
overbearing.  There  was  no  reference  to  this  scene  between  us 
afterwards.  On  the  contrary,  we  mot  three  days  later  as  though 
nothing  had  happened — what's  more,  I  was  almost  rude  that 

203 


evening,  and  he  too  seemed  rather  dry.  This  happened  in  my 
room  again  ;  for  some  reason  I  had  not  been  to  see  him  in  spite 
of  my  longing  to  see  my  mother. 

We  talked  all  this  time,  that  is  throughout  these  two  months, 
only  of  the  most  abstract  subjects.  And  I  can't  help  wondering 
at  it ;  we  did  nothing  but  talk  of  abstract  subjects — of  the 
greatest  interest  and  of  vast  significance  for  humanity,  of  covirse, 
but  with  no  bearing  whatever  on  the  practical  position.  Yet 
many,  many  aspects  of  the  practical  position  needed,  and 
urgently  needed,  defining  and  clearing  up,  but  of  that  we  did 
not  speak.  I  did  not  even  say  anything  about  my  mother  or 
Liza  or  ...  or  indeed  about  myself  and  my  whole  history. 
A^'hethcr  this  was  due  to  shame  or  to  youthful  stupidity  I  don't 
know.  I  expect  it  was  stupidity,  for  shame  I  could  have  over- 
come. But  I  domineered  over  him  frightfully,  and  absolutely 
went  so  far  as  insolence  more  than  once,  even  against  my  o^vn 
feelings.  This  all  seemed  to  happen  of  itself,  inevitably ;  I 
couldn't  restrain  myself.  His  tone  was  as  before,  one  of  light 
mockery,  though  always  extremelj^  affectionate  in  spite  of 
everything.  I  was  struck,  too,  by  the  fact  that  he  preferred 
coming  to  me,  so  that  at  last  I  very  rarely  went  to  see  my 
mother,  not  more  than  once  a  week,  especially  towards  the  latter 
part  of  the  time,  as  I  became  more  and  more  absorbed  in  frivolity. 
He  used  alwa3"s  to  come  in  the  evenings,  to  sit  and  chat  with 
me,  he  was  very  fond  of  talking  to  the  landlord  too,  which 
enrc^ged  me  in  a  man  like  him. 

The  idea  struck  me  that  he  might  have  nowhere  to  go  except 
to  see  me.  But  I  knew  for  a  fact  that  he  had  acquaintances, 
and  that  he  had,  indeed,  of  late  renewed  many  of  his  old  ties  in 
society,  which  he  had  dropped  the  year  before.  But  he  did  not 
seem  to  be  particularly  fascinated  by  them,  and  seemed  to  have 
renewed  many  of  them  simply  in  a  formal  way  ;  he  preferred 
coming  to  see  me. 

I  was  sometimes  awfully  touched  by  the  timid  way  in  which 
he  almost  ahvaj's  opened  my  door,  and  for  the  first  minute 
looked  with  strange  anxiety  into  my  eyes.  "  Am  I  in  the  way  ?  " 
he  seemed  to  ask,  "  tell  me,  and  I'll  go."  He  even  said  as  much 
sometimes.  Once,  for  instance,  towards  the  end  he  came  in 
when  I  had  just  put  on  a  suit,  brand  new  from  the  tailor's,  and 
was  just  setting  off  to  Prince  Sergay's,  to  go  off  somewhere  with 
htm  (where,  I  will  explain  later).  He  sat  down  without  noticing 
that  I  was  on  the  point  of  going  out ;   he  showed  at  moments  a 

204 


remarkable  absence  of  mind.  As  luck  would  have  it,  he  began 
to  talk  of  the  landlord.     I  fired  up. 

"  Oh,  damn  the  landlord  !  " 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  he  said,  getting  up,  "  I  believe  you're  going 
out  and  I'm  hindering  you.  .  .  .  Forgive  me,  please." 

And  he  meekly  hastened  to  depart.  Such  meekness  towards 
me  from  a  man  hke  him,  a  man  so  aristocratic  and  independent, 
who  had  so  much  individuaUty,  at  once  stirred  in  my  heart  all 
my  tenderness  for  him,  and  trust  in  him.  But  if  he  loved  me  so 
much,  why  did  he  not  check  me  at  the  time  of  my  degradation  ? 
If  he  had  said  one  word  I  should  perhape  have  pulled  up.  Though 
perhaps  I  should  not.  But  he  did  see  my  foppery,  my  flaunting 
swagger,  my  smart  Matvey  (I  wanted  once  to  drive  him  back 
in  my  sledge  but  he  would  not  consent,  and  indeed  it  happened 
several  times  that  he  refused  to  be  driven  in  it),  he  could  see  I 
was  squandering  money — and  he  said  not  a  word,  not  a  word, 
he  showed  no  curiosity  even  !  I'm  surprised  at  that  to  this  day  ; 
even  now.  And  yet  I  didn't  stand  on  ceremony  with  him,  and 
spoke  openly  about  everjdhing,  though  I  never  gave  him  a  word 
of  explanation.     He  didn't  ask  and  I  didn't  speak. 

Yet  on  two  or  tliree  occasions  we  did  speak  on  the  money 
question.  I  asked  him  on  one  occasion,  soon  after  he  renounced 
the  fortune  he  had  won,  how  he  was  going  to  live  now. 

"  Somehow,  my  dear,"  he  answered  with  extraordinary 
composure. 

I  know  now  that  more  than  half  of  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  Uttle 
capital  of  five  thousand  roubles  has  been  spent  on  Versilov 
during  the  last  two  years. 

Another  time  it  somehow  happened  that  we  talked  of  my 
mother. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said  mournfully,  "  I  used  often  to  say  to 
Sofia  Andreyevna  at  the  beginning  of  our  life  together,  though 
indeed  I've  said  it  in  the  middle  and  at  the  end  too  :  '  My  dear, 
I  worry  you  and  torment  you,  and  I  don't  regret  it  as  long  as 
you're  before  me,  but  if  you  were  to  die  I  кполу  I  should  kill 
myself  to  atone  for  it.'  " 

I  remember,  however,  that  he  was  particularly  open  that  evenmg. 

"  If  only  I  were  a  weak-willed  nonentity  and  suffered  from 
the  consciousness  of  it !  But  you  see  that's  not  so,  I  know  I'm 
exceedingly  strong,  and  in  what  way  do  you  suppose  ?  Why 
just  in  that  spontaneous  power  of  accommodating  myself  to 
anj^hing  whatever,  so  characteristic  of  all  intelligent  Russians 

205 


of  our  generation.  There's  no  crushing  me,  no  destroying  me, 
no  surprising  me.  I've  as  many  lives  as  a  cat.  I  can  with 
perfect  convenience  experience  two  opposite  feelings  at  one  and 
the  same  time,  and  not,  of  course,  through  my  own  will.  I  know, 
nevertheless,  that  it's  dishonourable  just  because  it's  so  sensible. 
I've  lived  almost  to  fifty,  and  to  this  day  I  don't  know  whether 
it's  a  good  thing  I've  gone  on  living  or  not.  I  like  life,  but  that 
follows  as  a  matter  of  coiirse.  But  for  a  man  like  me  to  love 
life  is  contemptible.  Of  late  there  has  been  a  new  movement, 
and  the  Krafts  won't  accommodate  themselves  to  things,  and 
shoot  themselves.  But  it's  evident  that  the  Krafts  are  stupid, 
we,  to  be  sure,  are  clever — so  that  one  can  draw  no  parallel,  and 
the  question  remains  open  anyway.  And  can  it  be  that  the 
#arth  is  only  for  such  as  we  ?  In  all  probabiUty  it  is  ;  but  the 
idea  is  a  comfortless  one.  However  .  .  .  however,  the  question 
remains  open,  anyway." 

He  spoke  mournfully  and  yet  I  didn't  know  whether  he  was 
sincere  or  not.  He  always  had  я  manner  which  nothing  would 
have  made  him  drop. 


Then  I  besieged  him  with  questions,  I  fell  upon  him  like  a 
starving  man  on  bread.  He  always  answered  me  readily  and 
straightforwardly,  but  in  the  end  always  went  off  into  the 
widest  generalizations,  so  that*  in  reality  one  could  draw  no 
conclusions  from  it.  And  yet  these  questions  had  worried  me 
all  ray  life,  and  I  franldy  confess  that  even  in  Moscow  I  had  put 
off  settling  them  till  I  should  meet  him  in  Petersburg.  I  told 
him  this  plainly,  and  he  did  not  laugh  at  me — on  the  contrary, 
I  remember  he  pressed  my  hand. 

On  general  politics  and  social  questions  I  соггМ  get  nothing 
out  of  him,  and  yet  in  connection  with  my  "  idea  "  those  subjects 
troubled  me  more  than  anything.  Of  men  like  Dergatchev  I 
once  drew  from  him  the  remark  that  "  they  were  below  all 
criticism,"  but  at  the  same  time  he  added  strangely  that  "  he 
reserved  the  right  of  attaching  no  significance  to  his  opinions." 
For  a  very  long  time  he  would  say  nothing  on  the  question  how 
the  modem  state  would  end,  and  how  the  social  commimity 
would  be  built  up  anew,  but  in  the  end  I  literally  wrenched  a 
few  words  out  of  him. 

"  I  imagine  that  all  that  will  come  about  in  a  very  common- 

206 


place  way,"  he  said  once.  "  Simply  un  beau  matin,  in  spite  of 
all  the  balance-sheets  on  budget  days,  and  the  absence  of 
deficits,  all  the  states  without  exception  will  be  unable  to  pay, 
so  that  they'll  all  be  landed  in  general  bankruptcy.  At  the 
same  time  all  the  conservative  elements  of  the  Avhole  world  will 
rise  up  in  opposition  to  everything,  because  they  will  be  the 
bondholders  and  creditors,  and  they  won't  want  to  aUow  the 
bankruptcy.  Then,  of  course,  there  will  follow  a  general 
liquidation,  so  to  speak  ;  the  Jews  will  come  to  the  fore  and  the 
reign  of  the  Jews  will  begin  :  and  then  all  those  who  have  never 
had  shares  in  an5^hing,  and  in  fact  have  never  had  anjrthing  at 
all,  that  is  all  the  beggars,  will  natiirally  be  unwilling  to  take 
part  in  the  liquidation.  ...  Л  struggle  will  begin,  and  after 
seventy-seven  battles  the  beggars  will  destroy  the  shareholders 
and  carry  off  their  shares  and  take  their  places  as  shareholders, 
of  course.  Perhaps  they'll  say  something  new  too,  and  perhaps 
they  won't.  Most  likely  they'll  go  bankrupt  too.  Further  than 
that,  my  dear  boy,  I  can't  undertake  to  predict  the  destinies  by 
which  the  face  of  this  world  will  be  changed.  Look  in  the 
Apocalypse  though  ..." 

"  But  can  it  all  be  so  materialistic  ?  Can  the  modem  world 
come  to  an  end  simply  through  finance  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I've  only  chosen  one  aspect  of  the  picture, 
but  that  aspect  is  bound  up  with  the  whole  by  indissoluble 
bonds,  so  to  speak." 

"  What's  to  be  done  1  " 

"  Oh  dear,  don't  be  in  a  hurry  ;  it's  not  all  coming  so  soon. 
In  any  case,  to  do  nothing  is  always  best,  one's  conscience 
is  at  rest  anyway,  knowing  that  one's  had  no  share  in  any- 
thing." 

"  Aie,  do  stop  that,  talk  sense.  I  want  to  know  what  I'm 
to  do  and  how  I'm  to  live." 

"  What  you  are  to  do,  my  dear  ?  Be  honest,  never  lie,  don't 
covet  your  neighbour's  house ;  in  fact,  read  the  Ten  Command- 
ments— it's  written  there  once  for  all." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  all  that's  so  old,  and  besides  .  .  .  it's 
all  words  ;  I  want  something  real." 

"  Well,  if  you're  fearfully  devoured  by  ennui,  try  to  love 
some  one  or  something,  or  at  any  rate  to  attach  yourself  to 
something." 

"  You're  only  laughing  !  Besides,  what  can  I  do  alone  with 
your  Ten  Commandments  ?  " 

207 


"  Well,  keep  them  in  spite  of  all  your  doubts  and  questions, 
and  you'll  be  a  great  man." 

"  Whom  no  one  will  know  of," 

"  '  There  is  nothing  hidden  that  shall  not  be  made  manifest,'  ** 

"  You're  certainly  laughing," 

"  Well,  if  you  take  it  so  to  heart  you'd  better  try  as  soon  as 
possible  to  specialize,  take  up  architecture  or  the  law,  and  then 
when  you're  busy  with  serious  work  you'll  be  more  settled  in 
your  mind  and  forget  trifles." 

I  was  silent.  What  could  I  gather  from  this  ?  And  yet, 
after  every  such  conversation  I  was  more  troubled  than  before. 
Moreover  I  saw  clearly  that  there  always  remained  in  him,  as  it 
were,  something  secret,  and  that  drew  me  to  him  more  and 
more. 

"  Listen,"  I  said,  interrupting  him  one  day,  "  I  always  suspect 
that  you  say  all  this  only  out  of  bitterness  and  suffering,  but 
that  secretly  you  are  a  fanatic  over  some  idea,  and  are  only 
concealing  it,  or  ashamed  to  admit  it." 

"  Thank  3^u,  my  dear." 

"  Listen,  nothing's  better  than  being  useful.  Tell  me  how,  at 
the  present  moment,  I  can  be  most  of  use.  I  know  it's  not  for 
you  to  decide  that,  but  I'm  only  asking  for  your  opinion.  You 
tell  me,  and  what  you  say  I  swear  I'll  do  !  Well,  what  is  the 
great  thought  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  turn  stones  into  bread.     That's  a  great  thought." 

"  The  greatest  ?  Yes,  really,  you  have  suggested  quite  a  new 
path.    Tell  me,  is  it  the  greatest  ?  " 

"  It's  very  great,  my  dear  boy,  very  great,  but  it's  not  the 
greatest.  It's  great  but  secondary,  and  only  great  at  the  present 
time,  Man  will  be  satisfied  and  forget  ;  he  will  say  :  '  I've 
eaten  it  and  what  am  I  to  do  now  ?  '  The  question  will  remain 
open  for  all  time." 

"  You  spoke  once  of  the  '  Geneva  ideas.'  I  didn't  understand 
what  was  meant  by  the  '  Geneva  ideas.'  " 

"  The  '  Geneva  idea  '  is  the  idea  of  virtue  without  Christ,  my 
boy,  the  modem  idea,  or,  more  correctly,  the  ideas  of  all  modem 
civilization.  In  fact,  it's  one  of  those  long  stories  which  it's 
very  dull  to  begin,  and  it  will  be  a  great  deal  better  if  we  talk  of 
other  things,  and  better  still  if  we're  silent  about  other  things." 

"  You  always  want  to  be  silent !  " 

"  My  dear,  remember  that  to  be  silent  is  good,  safe,  and 
picturesque." 

208 


■'  Picturesque  ?  " 

*'  Of  course.     Silence  is  always  picturesque,  and  the  man  who 
is  silent  always  looks  nicer  than  the  man  who  is  speaking." 

"  Why,  talking  as  we  do  is  no  better  than  being  silent.  Damn 
such  picturesqueness,  and  still  more  danan  such  profitableness." 
"  My  dear,"  he  said  suddenly,  rather  changing  his  tone, 
speaking  with  real  feeling  and  even  with  a  certain  insistence, 
"  I  don't  want  to  seduce  you  from  your  ideals  to  any  sort  of 
bourgeois  virtue,  I'm  not  assuring  you  that  '  happiness  is  better 
than  heroism ' ;  on  the  contrary  '  heroism  is  finer  than  any 
happiness,'  and  the  very  capacity  for  it  alone  constitutes  happi- 
ness. That's  a  settled  thing  between  us.  I  respect  you  just  for 
being  able  in  these  mawkish  days  to  set  up  some  sort  of  an 
'  idea  '  in  уош-  soul  (don't  be  imeasy,  I  remember  perfectly 
well).  But  yet  one  must  think  of  proportion,  for  now  you 
want  to  live  a  resounding  life,  to  set  fire  to  something,  to  smash 
something,  to  rise  above  everything  in  Russia,  to  call  up  storm- 
clouds,  to  throw  every  one  into  terror  and  ecstasy,  while  you 
vanish  yourself  in  North  America.  I've  no  doubt  you've  some- 
thing of  that  sort  in  your  heart,  and  so  I  feel  it  necessary  to 
warn  you,  for  I  really  love  you,  my  dear." 

What  could  I  gather  from  that  either  ?  There  was  nothing 
in  it  but  anxiety  for  me,  for  my  material  prosperity  ;  it  betrayed 
the  father  with  the  father's  kindly  but  prosaic  feelings.  Was 
this  what  I  wanted  by  way  of  an  idea  for  the  sake  of  which  any 
honest  father  would  send  his  son  to  face  death,  as  the  ancient 
Roman  Horatius  sent  his  sons  for  the  idea  of  Rome  ? 

I  often  pressed  him  on  the  subject  of  religion,  but  there  the 
fog  was  thicker  than  ever.  When  I  asked  him  what  to  do 
about  that,  he  answered  in  the  stupidest  way,  as  though  lo  a 
child  : 

"  You  must  have  faith  in  God,  my  dear." 
"  But  what  if  I  don't  believe  in  all  that  ?  "  I  cried  irritably 
once. 

"  A  very  good  thing,  my  dear." 
"  How  a  good  thing  ?  " 

"  It's  a  most  excellent  symptom,  dear  boy  ;  a  most  hopeful 
one,  for  our  atheists  in  Russia,  if  only  they  are  really  atheists 
and  have  some  little  trace  of  intelligence,  are  the  best  fellows  in 
the  whole  world,  and  аЫаз'^з  disposed  to  be  kind  to  God,  for 
they're  invariabl}^  good-humoured,  and  they're  good-humoured 
because    they're    immensely    pleased    at    being    atheists.     Our 

209 


atheists  are  respectable  people  and  extremely  conscientious, 
pillars  of  the  fatherland,  in  fact.  .  .  ." 

This  was  something,  of  course,  but  it  was  not  what  I  wanted. 
On  one  occasion,  however,  he  spoke  out,  but  so  strangely  that 
he  surprised  me  more  than  ever,  especially  after  the  stories  of 
Catholicism  and  penitential  chains  that  I  had  heard  about  him. 

"  Dear  boy,"  he  said  one  day,  not  in  my  room,  but  in  the 
street,  when  I  was  seeing  him  home  after  a  long  conversation, 
"  to  love  people  as  they  are  is  impossible.  And  yet  we  must. 
And  therefore  do  them  good,  overcoming  your  feelings,  holding 
your  nose  and  shutting  your  eyes  (the  latter's  essential).  Endure 
evil  from  them  as  far  as  may  be  without  anger,  *  mindful  that 
you  too  are  a  man.'  Of  course  you'll  be  disposed  to  be  severe 
with  them  if  it  has  been  vouchsafed  to  you  to  be  ever  so  little 
more  intelligent  than  the  average.  Men  are  naturally  base  and 
like  to  love  from  fear.  Don't  give  in  to  such  love,  and  never 
cease  to  despise  it.  Somewhere  in  the  Koran  Allah  bids  the 
prophet  look  upon  the  *  froward '  as  upon  mice,  do  them  good, 
and  pass  them  by — a  little  haughty,  but  right.  Know  how  to 
despise  them  even  when  they  are  good,  for  most  often  it  is  in 
that  they  are  base.  Oh,  my  dear,  it's  judging  by  myself  I  say 
that.  Anyone  who's  not  quite  stupid  can't  live  without  despising 
himself,  whether  he's  honest  or  dishonest — it  makes  no  difference. 
To  love  one's  neighbour  and  not  despise  him — is  impossible. 
I  believe  that  man  has  been  created  physically  incapable  of 
loving  his  neighbour.  There  has  been  some  mistake  in  language 
here  from  the  very  first,  and  '  love  for  humanity '  must  be 
understood  as  love  for  that  humanity  which  you  have  yourself 
created  in  your  soul  (in  other  words,  you  have  created  yourself 
and  your  love  is  for  yourself) — and  which,  therefore,  never  will 
be  in  reality." 

"  Never  wiU  be  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  agree  that  if  this  wore  true,  it  would  be 
stupid,  but  that's  not  my  fault,  and  I  was  not  consulted  at  the 
creation.     I  reserve  the  right  to  have  my  own  opinion  about  it." 

"  How  is  it  they  call  you  a  Christian,  then  ?  "  I  cried.  "  A 
monk  in  chains,  a  preacher  ?    I  don't  understand  it !  " 

"  Why,  who  calls  me  that  ?  " 

I  told  him  ;  he  listened  very  attentively,  but  cut  short  the 
conversation. 

I  can't  remember  what  led  to  this  memorable  conversation  ; 
but  he  was  positively  irritated,  which  scarcely  ever  happened  to 

210 


him.  He  spoke  passionately  and  without  irony,  as  though  he 
were  not  speaking  to  me.  But  again  I  didn't  believe  him.  He 
could  not  speak  on  such  subjects  seriously  to  anyone  Uke  me. 


CHAPTER  II 


On  that  morning,  the  15th  of  November,  I  found  him  at  Prince 
Sergay's.  I  had  brought  the  prince  and  him  together,  but  they 
had  ties  apart  from  me  (I  mean  the  afFair  abroad,  and  all  that). 
Moreover,  the  prince  had  promised  to  divide  the  disputed 
fortune  with  him,  giving  him  a  third,  which  would  mean  twenty 
thousand  at  least.  I  remember  at  the  time  I  thought  it  awfully 
strange  that  he  was  giving  him  only  a  third  and  not  the  full 
half  ;  but  I  said  nothing.  Prince  Sergay  gave  this  promise  of 
his  own  accord  ;  Versilov  had  not  said  a  syllable  to  suggest  it, 
had  not  dropped  a  hint.  Prince  Sergay  came  forward  himself 
and  Versilov  only  let  it  pass  in  silence,  never  once  alluded  to  it, 
and  showed  no  sign  that  he  had  the  least  recollection  of  a  promise. 
I  may  mention,  by  the  way,  that  Prince  Sergay  was  absolutely 
enchanted  with  him  at  first  and  still  more  with  the  things  he  said. 
He  fell  into  positive  raptures  about  him,  and  several  times  ex- 
pressed his  feelings  to  me.  Sometimes  when  he  was  alone  with 
me  he  exclaimed  about  himself,  almost  with  despair,  that  he  was 
"  so  ill-educated,  that  he  was  on  the  wrong  track  !  .  .  ."  Oh, 
we  were  still  so  friendly  then  !  .  .  .  I  kept  trying  to  impress 
Versilov  with  Prince  Sergay's  good  points  only,  and  excused  his 
defects  though  I  saw  them  myself  ;  but  Versilov  listened  in 
silence,  or  smiled. 

"  If  he  has  faults  he  has  at  least  as  many  virtues  as  defects  1  " 
I  once  exclaimed  to  Versilov  when  I  was  alone  with  him. 

*'  Goodness,  how  you  flatter  him  !  "  he  said  laughing. 

"  How  do  I  flatter  him  ?  "  I  said,  not  understanding. 

"  As  many  virtues  !  Why  he  must  be  a  saint  if  he  has  as 
many  virtues  as  defects  !  " 

But,  of  course,  that  was  not  his  opinion.  In  general  he 
avoided  speaking  of  Prince  Sergay  at  that  time,  as  he  did  indeed 
of  everything  real,  but  of  the  prince  particularly.  I  suspected, 
even  then,  that  he  went  to  see  Prince  Sergay  without  me,  and 
that  they  were  on  rather  peculiar  terms,  but  I  did  not  go  into 

211 


that.  I  was  not  jealous  either  at  his  talking  to  him  more 
seriously  than  to  me,  more  positively,  so  to  speak,  with  less 
mockery  ;  I  was  so  happy  at  the  time  that  I  was  actually 
pleased  at  it.  I  explained  it  too  by  Prince  Sergay's  being  of 
rather  limited  intelligence,  and  so  being  fond  of  verbal  exactitude  ; 
some  jests  he  absolutely  failed  to  see. 

But  of  late  he  had,  as  it  were,  begun  to  emancipate  himself. 
His  feelings  for  Versilov  seemed  beginning  to  change.  Versilov 
with  his  delicate  perception  noticed  it.  I  may  mention  at  this 
point  that  Prince  Sergay's  attitude  to  me,  too,  became  different 
at  the  same  time,  rather  too  obviously,  in  fact.  Only  the  lifeless 
forms  of  our  warm  earlier  relations  were  maintained.  Yet  I 
went  on  going  to  see  him  ;  I  could  not  indeed  help  it,  having 
once  been  drawn  into  it.  Oh,  how  clumsy  and  inexperienced  I 
was  then  ;  it  is  almost  beyond  belief  that  mere  foolishness  of 
heart  can  have  brought  anyone  to  such  humiliation  and  lack  of 
perception.  I  took  money  from  him  and  thought  that  it  didn't 
matter,  that  it  was  quite  right.  Yet  that  is  not  true  :  even  then 
I  knew  that  it  was  not  right,  but  it  was  simply  that  I  thought 
very  little  about  it.  I  did  not  go  to  the  prince  to  get  money, 
though  I  needed  the  money  so  much.  I  knew  I  did  not  go  for 
the  sake  of  the  money,  but  I  realized  that  I  went  every  day  to 
borrow  money.  But  I  was  in  a  whirl  then,  and  besides  all  that 
I  had  something  very  different  in  my  soul — it  was  singing  with 
joy ! 

When  I  went  in  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  found 
Versilov  just  finishing  a  long  tirade.  Prince  Sergay  was  walking 
about  the  room  listening,  and  Versilov  was  sitting  down.  Prince 
Sergay  seemed  in  some  excitement.  Versilov  was  almost  always 
able  to  work  him  into  a  state  of  excitement.  He  was  exceed- 
ingly impressionable,  to  a  degree  of  simplicity,  indeed,  which 
had  often  made  me  look  down  on  him.  But,  I  repeat,  of  late 
I  had  detected  in  him  something  like  a  resentful  sneer.  He 
stopped  short,  seeing  me,  and  a  quiver  seemed  to  pass  over  his 
face.  I  knew  in  my  heart  to  what  to  attribute  the  shadow  over 
him  that  morning,  but  I  had  not  expected  that  his  face  would 
be  so  distorted  by  it.  I  knew  that  he  had  an  accumulation  of 
anxieties,  but  it  was  revolting  that  I  didn't  know  more  than  a 
tenth  part  of  them — the  rest  had  been  kept  so  far  a  dead  secret 
from  me.  What  made  it  stupid  and  revolting  was  that  I  often 
obtruded  my  sympathy  on  him,  gave  advice  and  often  laughed 
condescendingly  at  his  weakness  at  being  so  upset  "  about  such 

212 


trifles."  He  used  to  be  silent  ;  but  he  must  have  detested  me 
at  those  moments  ;  I  was  in  an  utterly  false  position  and  had 
no  suspicion  of  it.  Oh,  I  call  God  to  witness  that  of  the  chief 
trouble  1  had  no  suspicion  ! 

He  courteously  held  out  his  hand  to  me,  however  ;  Versilov 
nodded,  without  interrupting  himself.  I  stretched  m5"?e]f  on 
the  sofa — my  tone  and  manners  were  horrible  at  that  time  I 
My  swagger  went  even  further :  I  used  to  treat  his  acquaint- 
ances as  though  they  were  my  outi.  Oh,  if  it  could  only  be 
done  all  over  again,  I  should  know  how  to  behave  very 
difiFerently ! 

Two  words,  that  I  may  not  forget.  Prince  Scrgay  was  still 
Uving  in  the  same  flat,  but  now  occupied  almost  the  whole  of  it. 
Mme.  Stolbyeev,  whose  flat  it  was,  after  staying  only  a  month, 
had  gone  away  again. 


They  were  talking  of  the  aristocracy.  I  may  mention  that 
Prince  Sergay  grew  sometimes  much  excited  over  this  subject 
in  spite  of  his  progressive  notions.  I  suspect  indeed  that  many 
of  his  misdoings  had  their  source  and  origin  in  this  idea.  Attach- 
ing great  significance  to  his  princely  rank,  he  threw  money  away 
in  all  directions  although  he  Avas  a  beggar,  and  became  involved 
in  debt.  Versilov  had  more  than  once  hinted  that  this  extrava- 
gance was  not  the  essence  of  princelincss,  and  tried  to  instil  into 
him  a  higher  conception  of  it  ;  but  Prince  Sergay  had  begun  to 
show  signs  of  reseniment  at  being  instructed.  Evidently  there 
had  been  something  of  the  same  sort  that  morning,  but  1  hadn't 
arrived  in  time  for  the  beginning  of  it.  VersiJov's  words  struck 
me  at  first  as  reactionary,  but  he  made  up  for  that  later  on. 

"  The  word  honour  means  duty,"  he  said  (I  only  give  the 
sense  as  far  as  I  remember  it) ;  "  when  the  upper  class  rules  in  a 
state  the  country  is  strong.  The  upper  class  always  has  its  sense 
of  honour,  and  its  code  of  honour,  which  may  be  imperfect  but 
almost  always  serves  as  a  bond  and  strengthens  the  countrv  ; 
an  advantage  morall}'  and  still  more  politieally.  But  the 
slaves,  that  is  all  those  not  belonging  to  the  ruling  class,  suffer. 
They  are  given  equal  rights  to  prevent  their  suffering.  That's 
what  has  been  done  with  us,  and  it's  an  excellent  thing.  But  in 
all  experience  so  far  (in  Europe  that  is  to  say)  a  weakening  of 
the  sense  of  honour  and  duty  has  followed  the  establishment  of 

21^ 


equal  rights.     Egoism  has  replaced  the  old  consolidating  principle 
and  the  whole  system  has  been  shattered  on  the  rock  of  personal 
freedom.     The    emancipated    masses,  left    with    no    sustaining 
principle,  have  ended  by  losing  all  sense  of  cohesion,  tUl  they 
have  given  up  defending  the  liberties  they  have  gained.     But 
the  Russian  type  of  aristocrat  has  never  been  like  the  European 
nobility.     Our  nobility,  even  now  that  it  has  lost  its  privileges, 
might  remain  the  leading  class  as  the  upholders  of  honour, 
enlightenment,  science,  and  higher  culture,  and,  what  is  of  the 
greatest    importance,    without    cutting   themselves    ofif   into    a 
separate  caste,  which  would  be  the  death  of  the  idea.     On  the 
contrary,  the  entrance  to  this  class  has  been  thrown  open  long 
ago  among  us,  and  now  the  time  has  come  to  open  it  completely. 
Let  every  honourable  and  valiant  action,  every  great  achieve- 
ment in  science  enable  a  man  to  gain  the  ranks  of  the  highest 
class.     In  that  way  the  class  is  automatically  transformed  into 
an  assembly  of  the  best  people  in  a  true  and  literal  sense,  not 
in  the  sense  in  which  it  was  said  of  the  privileged  caste  in  the 
past.     In  this  new,  or  rather  renewed  form,  the  class  might  be 
retained." 

The  prince  smiled  sarcastically. 

"  What  sort  of  an  aristocracy  would  that  be  ?  It's  some  sort 
of  masonic  lodge  you're  sketching  ;   not  an  aristocracy." 

Prince  Sergay  had  been,  I  repeat,  extremely  ill-educated.  I 
turned  over  with  vexation  on  the  sofa,  though  I  was  far  from 
agreeing  with  Versilov.  Versilov  quite  understood  that  the 
prince  was  sneering. 

"  I  don't  know  in  what  sense  you  talk  of  a  masonic  lodge,"  he 
answered.  "  Well,  if  even  a  Russian  prince  recoils  from  such 
an  idea,  no  doubt  the  time  for  it  has  not  arrived.  The  idea  of 
honour  and  enlightenment  as  the  sacred  keys  that  unlock  for 
any  man  the  portals  of  a  class  thus  continually  renewed  is,  of 
comrse,  a  Utopia.  But  why  is  it  an  impossible  one  ?  If  the 
thought  is  living  though  only  in  a  few  brains  it  is  not  yet  lost, 
but  shines  like  a  tiny  flame  in  the  depths  of  darkness." 

"  You  are  fond  of  using  such  words  as  '  higher  culture,'  'great 
idea,'  '  sustaining  principle  '  and  such  ;  I  should  like  to  know 
what  you  mean  exactly  by  a  '  great  idea  '  ?  " 

"  I  really  don't  know  how  to  answer  that  question,  dear 
prince,"  Versilov  responded  with  a  subtle  smile.  "  If  I  confess 
to  you  that  I  myself  am  not  able  to  answer,  it  would  be  more 
accurate.     A  great  idea  Is  most  often  a  feeling  which  sometimes 

214 


remains  too  long  undefined.  I  only  know  that  it's  that  which 
has  been  the  source  of  living  life,  gay  joyous  life,  I  mean,  not 
theoretical  and  artificial ;  so  that  the  great  idea,  from  which  it 
flows,  is  absolutely  indispensable,  to  the  general  vexation,  of 
course." 

"  Why  vexation  ?  *' 

"  Because,  to  live  with  ideas  is  dreary,  and  it's  always  gay 
without  them." 

The  prince  swallowed  the  rebuke. 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  by  this  living  life  as  you  call  it  ?  " 
(He  was  evidently  cross.) 

"  I  don't  know  that  either,  prince  ;  I  only  know  that  it  must 
be  something  very  simple,  the  most  everyday  thing,  staring  us  in 
the  face,  a  thing  of  every  day,  every  minute,  and  so  simple  that 
we  can  never  believe  it  to  be  so  simple,  and  we've  naturally  been 
passing  it  by  for  thousands  of  years  without  noticing  it  or 
recognizmg  it." 

"  I  only  meant  to  say  that  your  idea  of  the  aristocracy  is 
equivalent  to  denying  the  aristocracy,"  observed  Prince  Seigay. 

"  Well,  if  you  will  have  it  so,  perhaps  there  never  has  been  an 
aristocracy  in  Russia." 

"  All  this  is  very  obscure  and  vague.  If  one  says  something, 
one  ought,  to  my  mind,  to  explain  it.  .  .  ." 

Prince  Sergay  contracted  his  brows  and  stole  a  glance  at  the 
clock  on  the  wall.     Versilov  got  up  and  took  his  hat. 

"  Explain  ?  "  he  said,  "  no,  it's  better  not  to,  besides,  I've  a 
passion  for  talking  without  explanations.  That's  really  it. 
And  there's  another  strange  thing  :  if  it  happens  that  I  try  to 
explain  an  idea  I  believe  in,  it  almost  always  happens  that  I 
cease  to  believe  what  I  have  explained.  I'm  afraid  of  that  fate 
now.  Good-bye,  dear  prince  ;  I  always  chatter  unpardonably 
with  you." 

He  went  out ;  the  prince  escorted  him  poUtely,  but  I  felt 
offended. 

"  What  are  you  ruffling  up  your  feathers  about  ?  "  he  fired  off 
suddenly,  walking  past  me  to  his  bureau  without  looking  at  me. 

"  I'm  ruffling  up  my  feathers,"  I  began  with  a  tremor  in  my 
voice,  "  because,  finding  in  you  such  a  queer  change  of  tone  to 
me  and  even  to  Versilov  I  .  .  .  Versilov  may,  of  course,  have 
begun  in  rather  a  reactionary  way,  but  afterwards  he  made  up 
for  it  and  .  .  .  there  was  perhaps  a  profound  meaning  in  what 
he  said,  but  you  simply  didn't  understand,  and  ..." 

215 


"  I  simply  don't  care  to  have  people  putting  themselves 
forward  to  teach  me  and  treating  me  as  though  I  were  a  school- 
boy," he  snapped  out,  almost  wrathfully. 

"  Prince,  such  expressions  .  .  ." 

"  Please  spare  me  theatrical  flourishes — if  you  will  be  so  kind. 
I  know  that  what  I  am  doing  is — contemptible,  that  I'm — a 
spendthrift,  a  gambler,  perhaps  a  thief.  .  .  .  Yes,  a  thief,  for  I 
gamble  away  the  money  belonging  to  my  family,  but  I  don't 
want  anybody's  judgment.  I  don't  want  it  and  I  won't  have  it. 
I'm — ^the  judge  of  my  own  actions.  And  why  this  ambiguity  ? 
If  he  wants  to  say  anything  to  me  let  him  say  it  straight  out, 
and  not  go  in  for  this  mysterious  prophetic  twaddle.  To  tell 
me  all  this  he  ought  to  have  the  right  to,  he  ought  to  be  an 
honourable  man  himself.  .  .  ." 

"  In  the  first  place  I  didn't  come  in  at  the  beginning  and  I 
don't  know  what  you  were  talking  about,  and,  secondly,  what 
has  Versilov  done  dishonourable,  allow  me  to  ask  ?  " 

"  Please,  that's  enough,  that's  enough.  You  asked  me  for 
three  hundred  roubles  yesterday.     Here  it  is.  .  .  ." 

He  laid  the  money  on  the  table  before  me,  sat  down  in  the 
armchair,  leaned  nervously  against  the  back  of  it,  and  crossed 
one  leg  over  the  other.     I  was  thrown  into  confusion. 

"I  don't  know  ..."  I  muttered,  "though  I  did  ask  you 
for  it  .  .  .  and  though  I  do  need  the  money  now,  since  you  take 
such  a  tone  .  .  ." 

"  Don't  talk  about  tone.  If  I  spoke  sharply  you  must  excuse 
me.  I  assure  you  that  I've  no  thoughts  to  spare  for  it.  Listen 
to  this  :  I've  had  a  letter  from  Moscow.  My  brother  Sasha, 
who  was  only  a  child,  as  you  know,  died  four  days  ago.  My 
father,  as  you  know  too,  has  been  paralysed  for  the  last  two 
years,  and  now,  they  write  to  me,  he's  worse,  he  can't  utter  a 
word  and  knows  nobody.  They  were  relieved  to  get  the  inheri- 
tance, and  want  to  take  him  abroad,  but  the  doctor  writes 
that  he's  not  likely  to  live  a  fortnight.  So  I'm  left  with  my 
mother  and  sister  .  .  .  that  is,  almost  alone.  ...  In  fact,  I'm 
— alone.  This  fortune  .  .  .  this  fortune — oh,  it  луоиМ  have 
been  better  perhaps  if  it  had  not  come  to  me  at  all  !  But  this  is 
what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  :  I  promised  Andrcy  Petrovitch  a 
minimum  of  twenty  thousand.  .  .  .  And,  meanwhile,  only 
imagine,  owing  to  legal  formalities  I've  been  able  to  do  nothing. 
I  haven't  even  .  .  we,  that  is  .  .  .  my  father  that  is,  has  not 
yet  been  informed  of  the  inheritance.     And  meanwhile  I've  lost 

210 


so  much  money  during  the  last  three  weeks,  and  that  scoundrel 
Stebelkov  charges  such  a  rate  of  interest.  ,  .  .  I've  given  you 
almost  the  last.  ..." 

"  Oh,  prince,  if  that's  how  it  is  .  .  ." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  didn't  mean  that.  Stebelkov  will 
bring  some  to-day,  no  doubt,  and  there'll  be  enough  to  go  on 
with,  but  what  the  devil's  one  to  think  of  Stebelkov  ?  I  entreated 
him  to  get  me  ten  thousand,  so  that  I  might  at  lea^t  give  Andre3'^ 
Petrovitch  that  much.  It  worries  me,  it  plagues  me  to  think 
of  my  promise  to  give  him  a  third.  I  gave  my  word  and  I 
must  keep  it.  And  I  swear  I'll  do  my  utmost  to  free  mj'self 
from  obligations  in  that  direction  anyhow.  They  weigh  upon 
me,  they  weigh  upon  me,  they're  insufferable  !  This  biu"den- 
some  tie.  ...  I  can't  bear  to  see  Audrey  Petrovitch,  for  I 
can't  look  him  in  the  face.  .  .  .  Why  does  he  take  advantage 
of  it  1  " 

"  What  does  he  take  advantage  of,  prince  ?  "  I  stood  before 
him  in  amazement.     "  Has  he  ever  so  much  as  hinted  at  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  and  I  appreciate  it,  it's  I  who  reproach  myself. 
And  in  fact  I'm  getting  more  and  more  involved.  .  .  .  This 
Stebelkov.  .  .  ." 

"  Listen,  prince,  do  calm  yourself,  please.  I  see  you  get  more 
excited  the  more  you  talk,  and  yet  it  may  be  all  imagination. 
Oh,  I've  got  myself  into  difficulties  too,  unpardonably,  con- 
temptibly. But  I  know  it's  only  temporary  .  .  .  and  as  soon 
as  I  win  back  a  certain  sum,  then  ...  I  say,  with  this  three 
hundred,  I  owe  you  two  thousand  five  hundred,  don't  I  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  asking  it  from  you,  I  believe,"  the  prince  said 
suddenly  with  a  sneer. 

"  You  say  ten  thousand  for  Versilov.  If  I  borrow  from  you 
now  the  money  will  be  taken  off  Versilov's  twenty  thousand  ; 
otherwise  I  won't  consent.  Jiut  .  .  .  but  I  shall  certainly  pay 
it  back  myself.  .  .  .  But  can  you  possibly  imagine  that  Versilov 
comes  to  you  to  get  the  money  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  easier  for  me  if  he  did  come  for  the  money," 
Prince  Sergay  observed  enigmatically. 

"  You  talk  of  some  '  burdensome  tie.'  ...  If  you  mean  with 
Versilov  and  me,  upon  my  soul  it's  an  insult.  And  you  say 
why  isn't  he  what  he  preaches — that's  yoiu:  logic  !  And,  in  the 
first  place  it's  not  logic,  allow  me  to  tell  you,  for  even  if  he's 
not,  he  can't  help  saying  what's  true.  .  .  .  And  besides,  why 
do  you  talk  about  '  preaching  '  ?     You  call  him  a  '  prophet.' 

217 


Tell  me,  was  it  you  who  called  him  a  '  petticoat  prophet '  in 
Germany  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  not  I." 

"  Stebelkov  told  me  it  was  you." 

"  He  told  a  lie.  I'm — ^no  hand  at  giving  derisive  nicknames. 
But  if  a  man  preaches  honour  he  ought  to  be  honourable  himself 
— that's  my  logic,  and  if  it's  incorrect  I  don't  care.  I  prefer 
it  to  be  so.  And  I  won't  have  anyone  dare  to  come  and 
judge  me  in  my  own  house  and  treat  me  like  a  baby  1  That's 
enough  !  "  he  shouted,  waving  his  hand  to  stop  me.  ..."  Ah, 
at  last !  " 

Q'he  door  opened  and  Stebelkov  walked  in. 


He  was  exactly  the  same,  just  as  jauntily  dressed ;  and 
squared  his  chest  and  stared  into  one's  face  as  stupidly  as  ever, 
imagining  that  he  was  being  very  sly,  and  exceedingly  well 
satisfied  with  himself.  On  this  occasion  he  looked  about  him 
in  a  strange  way  on  entering  ;  there  was  a  look  of  pecuhar 
caution  and  penetration  in  his  face,  as  though  he  wanted  to 
guess  something  from  our  countenances.  He  instantly  subsided, 
however,  and  his  face  beamed  with  a  self-satisfied  smile,  that 
"  pardonably -insolent "  smile,  which  was  yet  unspeakably 
repulsive  to  me. 

I  had  known  for  a  long  time  that  he  was  a  great  torment  to 
Prince  Sergay.  He  had  come  once  or  twice  when  I  was  present. 
I  ...  I  too  had  had  a  transaction  with  him  during  that  month, 
but  on  this  occasion  I  was  rather  surprised  at  the  way  he  came 
in. 

"  In  a  minute,"  Prince  Sergay  said,  without  greeting  him,  and, 
turning  his  back  on  us  both,  he  began  looking  in  his  desk  for  the 
necessary  papers  and  accoimts.  As  for  me,  I  was  mortally 
offended  by  his  last  words.  The  suggestion  that  Versilov  was 
dishonourable  was  so  clear  (and  so  astonishing !)  that  it  could 
not  be  allowed  to  pass  without  a  full  explanation.  But  that 
was  impossible  before  Stebelkov.  I  reclined  on  the  sofa  again 
and  turned  over  a  book  that  was  lying  before  me. 

"  ByeUnsky,  part  two  !  That's  something  new  !  Are  you 
trjdng  to  cultivate  your  mind  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  I  fancy,  very 
uimatuially. 

2i8 


He  was  busily  engaged  and  in  great  haste,  but  at  my  words 
he  turned. 

"  I  beg  you  to  leave  that  book  alone,"  he  brought  out  sharply. 

This  was  beyond  all  endiu-ance,  especially  before  Stebelkov  ! 

To  make  it  worse  Stebelkov  gave  a  sly  and   loathsome  smirk, 

and  made  a  stealthy  sign  to  me  in  Prince  Sergay's  direction.     Д 

turned  away  from  the  fool. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  prince  ;  I'll  leave  you  to  your  most  impor- 
tant visitor,  and  meanwhile  I'll  disappear.  ..." 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  be  casual  in  my  manner. 
"  Is  that  me — the  most  important  visitor  ?  "  Stebelkov  put  in, 
jocosely  pointing  at  himself  with  his  finger. 

"  Yes,  you  ;  you're  the  most  important  person  and  you 
know  it  too  !  " 

"  No,  excuse  me.  Everywhere  in  the  world  there's  a  second 
person.  I  am  a  second  person.  There  is  a  first  person  and  a 
second  person.  The  first  acts  and  the  second  takes.  So  the 
first  person  turns  into  the  second  person,  and  the  second  person 
turns  into  the  first  person.     Is  that  so  or  not  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  so.  But  as  usual  I  don't  understand  you." 
"  Excuse  me.  In  France  there  was  a  re  volution  and  every  one 
was  executed.  Napoleon  came  along  and  took  everything. 
The  revolution  is  the  first  person,  and  Napoleon  the  second 
person.  But  it  turned  out  that  the  revolution  became  the 
second  i)erson  and  Napoleon  became  the  first  person.  Is  that 
right  ?  " 

I  may  observe,  by  the  way,  that  in  his  speaking  to  me  of  the 
French  Revolution  I  saw  an  instance  of  his  own  cunning  which 
amused  me  very  much.  He  still  persisted  in  regarding  me  as 
some  sort  of  revolutionist,  and  whenever  he  met  me  thought  it 
necessary  to  begin  on  some  topic  of  the  sort. 

"  Come  along,"  said  Prince  Sergay,  and  they  went  together 
into  the  other  room.  As  soon  as  I  was  alone  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  give  him  back  the  three  hundred  as  soon  as  Stebelkov 
had  gone.  I  needed  the  money  terribly,  still  I  resolved  to  do  so. 
They  remained  in  the  other  room,  and  for  ten  minutes  I  heard 
nothing,  then  suddenly  they  began  talking  loudly.  They  were 
both  talking,  but  Prince  Sergay  suddenly  shouted  as  though  in 
violent  irritation,  approaching  frenzy.  He  was  sometimes  very 
hasty,  so  that  I  was  not  stirprised.  But  at  that  moment  a 
footman  came  in  to  annoimce  a  visitor  ;  I  motioned  him  to  the 
other  room  and  instantly  there  was  silence  there.     Prince  Sergay 

219 


came  out  with  an  anxious  face,  though  he  smiled  ;  the  footman 
hastened  away,  and  half  a  minute  later  a  visitor  came  in. 

It  was  a  visitor  of  great  consequence,  with  shoulder-knots  and 
a  family  crest.  He  was  a  gentleman  not  over  thirty-,  of  high 
rank,  and  of  a  severe  appearance.  I  may  remark  that  Prince 
Sergay  did  not  yet  really  belong  to  the  highest  circles  in  Peters- 
burg, in  spite  of  his  passionate  desire  to  do  so  (I  was  aware  of 
this  desire),  and  so  he  must  have  been  glad  to  see  a  visitor  like 
this.  The  acquaintance  had,  as  I  knew,  only  been  formed 
through  great  efforts  on  the  part  of  Prince  Sergay.  The  guest 
was  returning  Prince  Sergay's  visit,  and  unhappily  came  upon 
him  at  the  wrong  moment.  I  saw  Prince  Sergay  look  at  Stebelkov 
with  an  agonized  and  hopeless  expression  ;  but  Stebelkov 
encountered  his  eyes  as  though  nothing  whatever  were  the 
matter,  and  without  the  faintest  idea  of  effacing  himself,  sat 
doAv-n  on  the  sofa  with  a  free-and-easy  air  and  began  passing  his 
hand  through  his  hair,  probably  to  display  his  independence. 
He  even  assumed  an  important  comitenance,  in  fact  he  was 
utterly  impossible.  As  for  me,  I  knew,  of  course,  how  to  behave 
decently  even  then,  and  should  never  have  disgraced  anyone ; 
but  what  was  my  amazement  when  I  caught  on  Prince  Sergay's 
face  the  same  hopeless,  miserable  and  vindictive  look  directed 
at  me  :  he  was  ashamed  of  us  both  then,  and  put  me  on  a  level 
with  Stebelkov.  That  idea  drove  me  to  fury.  I  lolled  even 
more  at  my  ease,  and  began  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  book, 
as  though  the  position  were  no  concern  of  mine.  Stebelkov,  on 
the  contrary,  bent  forward  open-eyed  to  listen  to  their  conversa- 
tion, probably  supposing  that  this  was  a  polite  and  affable  thing 
to  do.  The  visitor  glanced  once  or  twice  at  Stebelkov,  and  at 
me  too,  indeed. 

They  talked  of  family  news  ;  this  gentleman  had  at  some 
time  known  Prince  Sergay's  mother,  who  was  one  of  a  distin- 
guished family.  From  what  I  could  gather,  in  spite  of  his 
politeness  and  the  apparent  good-nature  of  his  tone,  the  visitor 
was  very  formal  and  evidently  valued  his  own  dignity  so  highly 
as  to  consider  a  visit  from  him  an  honour  to  anyone  whatever. 
Had  Prince  Sergay  been  alone,  that  is  had  we  not  been  present, 
he  would  certainly  have  been  more  dignified  and  more  resourceful. 
As  it  was,  something  tremulous  in  his  smile,  possibly  an  excess 
of  politeness,  and  a  strange  absent-mindedness,  betrayed  him. 

They  had  hardly  been  sitting  there  five  minutes  when  another 
visitor  was  announced,  also  of  the  compromising  kind.     I  knew 

220 


this  one  very  well  and  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  him,  though 
he  did  not  know  me  at  all.  He  was  still  quite  a  young  man,  though 
twenty-three,  who  was  handsome  and  elegantly  dressed  and  had 
a  fine  house,  but  moved  in  distinctly  doubtful  circles.  A  year 
before  he  had  been  serving  in  one  of  the  smartest  cavalry  regi- 
ments, but  had  been  forced  to  give  up  his  commission,  and 
everyone  knew  for  what  reason.  His  relations  had  even  adver- 
tised in  the  papers  that  they  would  not  be  responsible  for  his 
debts,  but  he  still  continued  his  profligate  manner  of  life,  borrow- 
ing money  at  ten  per  cent,  a  month,  playing  desperately  in 
gambling  circles,  and  squandering  his  money  on  a  notorious 
Frenchwoman.  A  week  before,  he  had  succeeded  one  evening 
in  winning  twelve  thousand  roubles  and  was  triumphant.  He 
was  on  friendly  terms  with  Prince  Sergay  :  they  often  played 
together  tete-a-tete ;  but  Prince  Sergay  positively  shuddered 
seeing  him  now.  I  noticed  this  from  where  I  lay.  This  youth 
made  himself  at  home  everywhere,  talked  with  noisy  gaiety, 
saying  anything  that  came  into  his  head  without  restraint. 
And  of  course  it  could  never  have  occurred  to  him  that  our 
host  was  in  such  a  panic  over  the  impression  his  associatee 
would  make  upon  his  important  visitor. 

He  interrupted  their  conversation  by  his  entrance,  and  began 
at  once  describing  his  play  on  the  previous  day,  before  he  had 
even  sat  down. 

"  I  believe  you  were  there  too,"  he  said,  breaking  off  at  the 
third  sentence  to  address  the  important  gentleman,  mistaking 
him  for  one  of  his  own  set ;  but  looking  at  him  more  closely  he 
cried  at  once  : 

'*  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  mistook  you  for  one  of  the  party 
yesterday  !  " 

"  Alexcy  Vladimirovitch  Darzan — Ippolit  Alexandrovitch 
Nastchokin,"  Prince  Sergay  made  haste  to  introduce  them.  This 
youth  could  still  be  introduced.  He  belonged  to  a  good  family 
and  it  was  a  distinguished  name  ;  but  us  he  did  not  introduce, 
and  we  went  on  sitting  in  our  corners.  I  absolutely  refused  to 
turn  my  head  in  their  direction,  but  Stebelkov  began  smirking 
gleefully  at  the  sight  of  the  young  man,  and  was  unmistakably 
threatening  to  begin  talking.     This  began  to  amuse  me. 

"  I  met  you  several  times  last  year  at  Countess  Verigin's," 
said  Darzan. 

"  I  remember  you,  but  I  believe  you  were  in  miUtary  uniform 
then,"  Nastchokin  observed  genially. 

221 


"  Yes,  I  was,  but  thanks  to.  .  .  .  But  Stebelkov  here  ?  How 
does  he  come  here  ?  It's  just  thanks  to  these  pretty  gentlemen 
here  that  I'm  not  in  the  army  now  !  "  he  pointed  to  Stebelkov, 
and  bxu'st  out  laughing.  Stebelkov  laughed  gleefully  too, 
probably  taking  it  as  a  compliment.  Prince  Sergay  blushed  and 
made  haste  to  address  a  question  to  Nastchokin,  and  Darzan, 
going  up  to  Stebelkov,  began  talking  of  something  very  warmly, 
though  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  beUeve  you  saw  a  great  deal  of  Katerina  Nikolaevna 
Ahmakov  abroad  1  "  the  visitor  asked  Prince  Sergay. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  knew  her.  .  .  ." 

"  I  beUeve  we  shall  soon  be  hearing  a  piece  of  news  about  her. 
They  say  she's  engaged  to  Baron  Buring." 

"  That's  true  !  "  cried  Darzan. 

"  Do  you  know  it  for  a  fact  ?  "  Prince  Sergay  asked  Nastchokin 
with  evident  agitation,  bringing  out  his  question  with  peculiar 
emphasis. 

"  I've  been  told  so,  and  people  are  talking  about  it ;  but  I 
don't  know  it  for  a  fact." 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  fact  1  "  said  Darzan,  going  up  to  Jiim.  "  Dubasov 
told  me  so  yesterday,  he's  always  the  first  to  know  news  like 
that.    Yes,  and  the  prince  ought  to  know,  .  .  ." 

Nastchokin  waited  till  Darzan  had  finished,  and  turned  to 
Prince  Sergay  again. 

"  She's  not  very  often  seen  now." 

"  Her  father  has  been  ill  for  the  last  month,"  Prince  Sergay 
observed  drily. 

"  She's  a  lady  of  many  adventures  !  "  Darzan  blurted  out 
suddenly. 

I  raised  my  head  and  sat  up. 

"  I  have  the  pleasiu-e  of  knowing  Katerina  Nikolaevna  per- 
sonally, and  I  take  upon  myself  the  duty  of  declaring  that  all 
scandalous  stories  about  her  are  mere  lies  and  infamy  .  .  .  and 
invented  by  those  who  have  sougbt  her  favour  without  success." 

After  this  stupid  outburst  I  relapsed  into  silence,  still  sitting 
upright  and  gazing  at  them  aU  with  a  flushed  face.  Every  one 
timied  to  me,  but  Stebelkov  suddenly  guffawed ;  Darzan,  too, 
simpered  and  seemed  siu^prised. 

"  Arkady  Makarovitch  Dolgoruky,"  said  Prince  Sergay, 
indicating  me  to  Darzan. 

"  Oh,  believe  me,  prince,"  said  Darzan,  frankly  and  good- 
naturedly    addressing    me,     "  I     am    only    repeating    what 

222 


I've  heard  ;  if  there  are  rumours  they  have  not  been  of  mj 
spreading." 

"  I  did  not  mean  it  for  you  !  "  I  answered  quickly,  but 
Stebelkov  had  burst  into  an  outrageous  roar  of  laughter,  caused 
as  he  explained  afterwards  by  Darzan's  having  addressed  me  as 
prince.  My  diabolical  surname  had  got  me  into  a  mess  again. 
Even  now  I  blush  at  the  thought  that  I  had  not  the  courage — 
through  shame,  of  course — to  set  right  this  blunder  and  to  protest 
aloud  that  I  was  "  simply  Dolgoruky."  It  was  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  had  let  it  pass.  Darzan  looked  in  perplexity  at  me 
and  at  Stebelkov's  laughter. 

"  Ah  yes  !  Who  was  the  pretty  girl  I  met  on  the  stairs  just 
now,  a  slim,  fair  little  thing  ?  "  he  suddenly  asked  Prince  Sergay. 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  the  latter  answered  quickly,  reddening. 

"  How  should  you  ?  "  laughed  Darzan. 

"  Though  ...  it  ...  it  might  have  been.  .  .  ."  Prince 
Sergay  faltered  oddly. 

"  It  was  .  .  .  this  gentleman's  sister,  Lizaveta  Makarovna  !  " 
said  Stebelkov  suddenly  pointing  to  me,  "  for  I  met  her  just 
now  too.  .  .  ." 

"  Ah  indeed  !  "  Prince  Sergay  put  in  quickly,  speaking  this 
time,  however,  with  an  extremely  grave  and  dignified  expression, 
"  it  must  have  been  Lizaveta  Makarovna,  who  is  a  great  friend 
of  Anna  Fyodorovna  Stolbyeev,  in  whose  flat  I  am  staying  ; 
she  must  have  come  to-day  to  see  Darya  Onisimovna,  another 
of  Anna  Fyodorovna's  great  friends,  whom  she  left  in  charge  of 
the  house  when  she  went  away.  ..." 

This  was  all  true.  Darya  Onisimovna  was  the  mother  of 
poor  Olya,  whose  story  I  have  told  already.  Tatyana  PavlovTia 
had  found  a  refuge  for  the  poor  -woman  at  last  with  Mme. 
Stolbyeev.  I  know  very  well  that  Liza  had  been  sometimes  at 
Mme.  Stolbycev's,  and  had  lately  visited  there  Darj'a  Onisi- 
movna, of  whom  every  one  at  home  Avas  very  fond ;  but  after 
this  statement  by  Prince  Sergay — sensible  as  it  was,  however — 
and  still  more  Stebelkov's  stupid  outburst,  and  perhaps  because 
I  had  been  called  prince,  I  suddenly  flushed  all  over.  Luckily 
at  that  very  instant  Nastchokin  stood  up  to  take  leave  ;  he 
offered  his  hand  to  Darzan  also.  At  the  moment  Stebelkov  and 
I  were  left  alone ;  he  nodded  his  head  to  me  in  the  direction  of 
Darzan,  who  was  standing  in  the  doorway  with  his  back  to  us  ; 
1  shook  my  fist  at  Stebelkov. 

A  minute  later  Darzan,  too,  got  up  to  go,  after  arranging  with 

223 


Prince  Sergay  to  meet  him  next  day  at  some  place,  a  gambling 
house,  I  beUeve.  As  he  went  out  he  shouted  something  to 
Stebelkov,  and  made  me  a  slight  bow.  Hardly  had  he  gone  out 
when  Stebelkov  jumped  up  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
pointing  to  the  ceiling  with  his  finger  : 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  trick  that  fine  young  gentleman  played  last 
week.  He  gave  an  10 (J  to  Averyanov  and  signed  a  false  name 
to  it.  That  lOU  is  still  in  existence,  but  it's  not  been  honoured  ! 
It's  criminal  !     Eight  thovisand  !  " 

"  And  no  doubt  that  lOU  is  in  your  hands  ?  "  I  cried,  glaring 
at  him  savagely. 

'■  1  have  a  bank,  I  have  a  mont-de-piete,  I  am  not  a  brokpr 
Have  you  heard  that  there  is  a  mont-de-piete  in  Paris  ?     Bread 
and  benevolence  for  the  poor  ;   I  have  a  mont-de-piete.  .  .  ." 
Prince  Sergay  rudely  and  angrily  cut  him  short. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?     What  are  you  staying  for  ?  " 
"  But,"    Stebelkov    blinked    rapidly,    "  what    about    that  ? 
Won't  it  do  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  Prince  Sergay  shouted,  stamping  ;  "  I've  said 
so." 

"  Well,  if  so  .  .  .  that's  so.  .  .  But  that's  a  mistake.  .  ." 
He  turned  abruptly  and  with  bowed  head  and  bent  spine  went 
quickly  out  of  the  room.  Prince  Sergay  called  after  him  when 
he  was  in  the  doorway  : 

"  You  may  as  well  know,  sir,  that  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid 
of  you." 

He  was  very  much  irritated,  he  was  about  to  sit  down,  but 
glancing  at  me,  remained  standing.     His  eyes  seemed  to  say  to 
me  also,  "  \\'hy  are  you  hanging  about  here  too  ?  " 
"  Prince,  I  ..."  I  was  beginning. 

"  I've  really  no  time  to  listen,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  I'm  just 
going  out." 

"  One  minute,  prince,  it's  very  important ;    and,  to  begin 
with,  take  back  your  three  hundred." 
"  \\'hat's  this  now  ?  " 

He  was  walking  up  and  down,  but  he  stopped  short. 
"  This  now  is  til  at  after  all  that  has  passed  .  .   .  and   what 
you've  said  about  Versilov  .  .  .  that  he  was  dishonourable,  and 
in  fact  your  tone  all  the  time.  ...  In  short,  I  can't  possibly 
take  it." 

"  You've  been  taking  it  for  the  last  month,  though." 
He  suddenly  sat  down  on  the  chair.     I  was  standing  at  the 

224 


table,  and  with  one  hand  I  patted  the  volume  of  Byelinsky,  while 
I  held  my  hat  in  the  other. 

"  I  had  different  feelings,  prince  .  .  .  and,  in  fact,  I  would 
never  have  brought  it  to  such  a  sum  ...  it  was  the  gambling  .  .  . 
in  short,  I  can't !  " 

"  You  have  not  distinguished  yourself  to-day,  and  so  you  are 
in  a  rage  ;   I'll  ask  you  to  leave  that  book  alone." 

"  What  does  that  mean  :  '  not  distinguished  myself  '  ?  And, 
in  fact,  before  your  visitors  you  almost  put  me  on  a  level  with 
Stebelkov." 

"  So  that's  the  key  to  the  riddle  !  "  he  said  with  a  biting 
smile.     "  You  ллеге  abashed  by  Darzan's  calling  you  prince,  too." 

He  laughed  spitefully.     I  flared  up. 

"  I  simply  don't  imderstand ;  I  wouldn't  take  your  title  as  a 
gift." 

"  I  know  your  character.  How  absurdly  j'ou  cried  out  in 
defence  of  Mme.  Ahmakov  ...  let  that  book  alone  !  " 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  it  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  L-l-let  the  book  alone !  "  he  yelled  suddenly,  drawing 
himself  up  in  the  low  chair,  with  a  ferocious  movement,  as 
though  about  to  spring  at  me. 

"  This  is  beyond  all  limits,"  I  said,  and  I  walked  quickly  out 
of  the  room,  but  before  I  had  reached  the  end  of  the  drawing- 
room,  he  shouted  to  me  from  the  study  : 

"  Arkady  Makarovitch,  come  back  !  Co-ome  ba-ack  !  Co-ome 
ba-ack  !  " 

I  went  on  without  heeding.  He  hastily  overtook  me,  seized 
me  by  the  arm,  and  dragged  me  back  into  the  study.  I  did  not 
resist. 

"  Take  it,"  he  said,  pale  with  excitement,  handing  me  the 
three  hundred  roubles  I  had  thrown  on  the  table.  "  You  must 
take  it  ...  or  else  we  .  .  ,  you  must !  " 

"  Prince,  how  can  I  take  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  beg  your  pardon  ...  if  you  Uke  ...  all  right, 
forgive  me  !  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  always  liked  you,  prince,  and  if  you  feel  the  same  . . ." 

"  I  do  ;   take  it.  .  .  ." 

I  took  the  money.     His  lips  were  trembling. 

"  I  can  imderstand,  prince,  that  you  are  exasperated  by  that 
scoundrel  .  .  .  but  I  won't  take  it,  prince,  unless  we  kiss  each 
other,  as  we  have  done  when  we've  quarrelled  before." 

I  was  trembling,  too,  as  I  said  this. 

225 


"  Now  for  sentimentality,"  muttered  Prince  Sergay,  with  an 
embarrassed  smile,  but  he  bent  down  and  kissed  me.  I  shud- 
dered ;  at  the  instant  he  kissed  me  I  caught  on  his  face  an 
unmistakable  look  of  aversion. 

"  Did  he  bring  you  the  money,  anyway  ?..,'* 

"  Aie,  never  mind." 

"  I  was  asking  on  your  account.  .  .  .** 

"  Yes  he  did,  he  did." 

"  Prince,  we  have  been  friends  .  .  .  and  in  fact,  Versilov. . .  .*• 

"  Yes,  yes.    That's  all  right !  " 

"  And  in  fact  ...  I  really  don't  know  .  .  .  about  this  three 
hundred.  .  .  ." 

I  was  holding  the  money  in  my  hand. 

"  Take  it,  ta-ake  it !  "  he  smiled  again,  but  there  was  something 
very  vicious  in  his  smile. 

I  took  the  money. 


CHAPTER  III 


I  TOOK  the  money  because  I  loved  him.  If  anyone  disbelieves 
this  I  must  inform  him  that  at  the  moment  when  I  took  the 
money  I  was  firmly  convinced  that  I  could  have  obtained  it  from 
another  source.  And  so  I  really  took  it,  not  because  I  was  in 
desperate  straits,  but  from  delicacy,  not  to  hurt  his  feelings. 
Alas,  that  was  how  I  reasoned  at  the  time  !  But  yet  my  heart  was 
very  heavy  as  I  went  out  from  him.  I  had  seen  that  morning 
an  extraordinary  change  in  his  attitude  to  me  ;  he  had  never 
taken  such  a  tone  before,  and,  as  regards  Versilov,  it  was  a  case 
of  positive  mutiny.  Stebelkov  had  no  doubt  annoyed  him  very 
much  that  morning,  but  he  had  begun  to  be  the  same  before 
seeing  Stebelkov.  I  repeat  once  more  :  the  change  from  his 
original  manner  might  indeed  have  been  noticed  for  some  days 
past,  but  not  in  the  same  way,  not  in  the  same  degree,  that  was 
the  point. 

The  stupid  gossip  about  that  major.  Baron  Biiring,  might 
have  some  effect  on  him.  ...  I  too  had  been  disturbed  by 
it,  but  .  .  .  the  fact  is,  I  had  something  else  in  my  heart  at 
that  time  that  shone  so  resplendent  that  I  heedlessly  let  many 
things  pass  unnoticed,  made  haste  to  let  them  pass,  to  get  rid 
of  them,  and  to  go  back  to  that  resplendence.  .  .  . 

226 


It  was  not  yet  one  o'clock.  From  Prince  Sergay's  I  drove  with 
my  Matvey  straight  off  to — it  will  hardly  be  believed  to  whom — 
to  Stebeikov  !  The  fact  is  that  he  had  surprised  me  that  morn- 
ing, not  so  much  by  turning  up  at  Prince  Sergay's  (for  he  had 
promised  to  be  there)  as  by  the  way  he  had  winked  at  me  ;  he 
had  a  stupid  habit  of  doing  so,  but  that  morning  it  had  been 
apropos  of  a  different  subject  from  what  I  had  expected.  The 
evening  before,  a  note  had  come  from  him  by  post,  which  had 
rather  puzzled  me.  In  it  he  begged  me  to  go  to  him  between 
two  and  three  to-day,  and  that  "  he  might  inform  me  of  facts 
that  would  be  a  surprise  to  me." 

And  in  reference  to  that  letter  he  had  that  raoming,  at  Prince 
Sergay's,  made  no  sign  whatever.  What  sort  of  secrets  could 
there  be  between  Stebeikov  and'  me  ?  Such  an  idea  was  posi- 
tively ridiculous  ;  but,  after  all  that  had  happened,  I  felt  a  slight 
excitement  as  I  drove  off  to  him.  I  had,  of  coiurse,  a  fortnight 
before  applied  to  him  for  money,  and  he  was  ready  to  lend  it,  but 
for  some  reason  we  did  not  come  to  terms,  and  I  did  not  take 
the  money :  on  that  occasion,  too,  he  had  muttered  something 
vague,  as  his  habit  was,  and  I  had  fancied  he  wanted  to  make 
me  some  offer,  to  suggest  some  special  conditions  ;  and  as  I  had 
treated  him  disdainfully  every  time  I  had  met  him  at  Prince 
Sergay's,  I  proudly  cut  short  any  idea  of  special  terms,  though 
he  pursued  me  to  the  door.  I  borrowed  the  money  afterwards 
from  Prince  Sergay. 

Stebeikov  lived  in  a  very  comfortable  style.  He  had  his  own 
establishment,  a  flat  of  four  rooms,  with  handsome  furniture, 
men  and  women  servants,  and  a  housekeeper,  who  was,  however, 
by  no  means  young.     I  went  in  angrily. 

"  Listen,  my  good  man,"  I  began  from  the  door  ;  "to  begin 
with,  what's  the  meaning  of  that  letter  ?  I  don't  care  for  letters 
to  be  passing  between  us.  And  why  did  you  not  make  any 
statement  you  wanted  to  make  at  Prince  Sergay's  this  morning  ? 
I  was  at  your  service." 

"  And  why  did  you  hold  your  tongue,  too,  this  morning,  instead 
of  questioning  me  ?  "  he  said  with  a  broad  grin  of  intense  self- 
satisfaction. 

"  Because  it's  not  I  want  something  of  you,  but  you  want 
something  of  me,"  I  cried,  suddenly  growing  hot. 

"  Why  have  you  come  to  see  me,  if  that's  so  ?  "  he  cried, 
almost  jumping  out  of  his  chair  with  glee.  I  turned  instantly, 
and  would  have  gone  out,  but  he  seized  me  by  the  shoulder. 

227 


"  No,  no,  I  was  joking,  it's  a  matter  of  importance,  as  you'll 
see  for  yourself." 

I  sat  down,  I  must  admit  I  was  inquisitive.  We  were  seated' 
facing  one  another  at  the  end  of  a  big  writing  table.  He  smiled 
slyly,  and  was  just  holding  up  his  finger. 

"  None  of  your  slyness,  please,  and  no  fingers  either,  and 
above  all,  none  of  your  allegories  !  Come  straight  to  the  point, 
or  I'll  go  away  at  once,"  I  cried  angrily  again. 

"  You  .  .  .  are  proud  !  "  he  pronounced  in  a  tone  of  stupid 
reproach,  rocking  in  his  easy-chair  and  turning  his  wrinkled 
forehead  towards  the  ceiling. 

"  One  has  to  be  with  you  !  " 

"  You  .  .  .  took  money  from  Prince  Sergay  to-day,  three 
hundred  roubles ;  I  have  money  too,  my  money  is  better  than 
his." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  took  it  ?  "  I  asked,  greatly  astonished. 
"  Can  he  have  told  you  that  himself  ?  " 

"  He  told  me ;  don't  worry  yourself,  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion it  happened  to  come  up,  it  just  happened  to  come  up,  it  was 
not  on  purpose.  He  told  me.  And  you  need  not  have  taken  it. 
Is  that  so,  or  not  ?  " 

"  But  I  hear  that  you  squeeze  out  an  exorbitant  interest." 

"  I  have  a  mont-de-piete,  but  I  don't  squeeze.  I  only  lend 
to  friends,  and  not  to  other  people,  the  mont-de-pietd  is  for 
them.  .  .  ." 

This  mont-de-piete  was  an  ordinary  pawnbroker's  shop,  which 
flourished  under  another  name,  in  a  different  quarter  of  the  town. 

"  But  I  lend  large  sums  to  friends." 

"  Why,  is  Prince  Sergay  such  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  A  fri-iend ;  but  ...  he  plays  the  fool,  and  he'd  better  not 
dare  to  play  the  fool." 

"  Why  is  he  so  much  in  your  power  1  Does  he  owe  you  a  great 
deal ?  " 

"  He  .  .  .  does  owe  a  great  deal." 

"  He'll  pay  you  ;  he  has  come  into  a  fortune  .  .  ." 

"  That  is  not  his  fortune  ;  he  owes  money,  and  owes  something 
else,  too.  The  fortune's  not  enough.  I'll  lend  to  you  without 
interest." 

"  As  though  I  were  a  '  friend  '  too  ?  How  have  I  earned 
that  ?  "  I  laughed. 

"  You  will  earn  it."  Again  he  rocked  his  whole  person 
forward  on  a  level  with  me,  and  was  again  holding  up  his  fingers. 

228 


"  Stebelkov  !     Speak   without   flourishing  your   fingers   or   I 

go." 

"  I  say,  he  may  marry  Anna  Andreyevna  !  "  and  he  screwed 
up  his  left  eye  fiendishly. 

"  Listen,  Stebelkov,  your  conversation  is  taking  such  a 
scandalous  turn.  .  .  .  How  dare  you  utter  the  name  of  Anna 
Andreyevna  !  " 

"  Don't  lose  your  temper." 

"  I  am  listening,  though  it's  against  the  grain,  for  I  see  clearly 
you  have  something  up  your  sleeve,  and  I  want  to  find  out  what 
it  is  .  .  .  but  you  may  try  my  patience  too  far,  Stebelkov  !  " 

"  Don't  be  angry,  don't  be  proud.  Humble  your  pride  a  little 
and  listen;  and  then  you'll  be  proud  again.  You  know,  of  course, 
about  Anna  Andreyevna.  The  prince  may  make  a  match  .  .  , 
you  know,  of  course  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  idea,  of  course,  I  know  all  about  it,  but  I 
have  never  spoken  to  Prince  Sergay  about  it,  I  only  know  that 
the  idea  originated  with  old  Prince  Sokolsky,  who  is  ill  now; 
but  I  have  never  talked  to  him  about  it  and  I  have  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  I  tell  you  this,  simply  to  make  things  clear.  I  will  ask 
you  in  the  first  place  :  what  is  your  object  in  mentioning  it  to  me  ? 
And  secondly,  can  Prince  Sergay  possibly  discuss  such  subjects 
with  you  ?  " 

"  He  does  not  discuss  them  with  me ;  he  does  not  want  to 
discuss  them  with  me,  but  I  mention  them  to  him,  and  he  does 
not  want  to  listen.     He  shouted  at  me  this  morning." 

"  I  should  think  so  !     I  commend  him." 

"  Old  Prince  Sokolsky  will  give  Anna  Andreyevna  a  good 
dowry;  !>i:e's  a  favourite.  Then  when  the  prince  marries  her, 
he'll  repay  me  all  the  money  he  owes.  And  he  will  pay  other 
debts  as  well.  He'll  certainly  pay  them  !  But  now  he  has 
nothing  to  pay  with." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

"  To  answer  the  great  question  :  you  are  known  everywhere, 
you  go  everyлvhere,  you  can  find  out  anything." 

"Oh,  damnation  .  .   .  find  out  what  ?  " 

"  Whether  Prince  Sergay  wishes  it,  whether  Anna  Andreyevna 
wishes  it,  whether  the  old  prince  wishes  it." 

"  And  you  dare  to  propose  that  I  should  be  your  spy,  and — 
for  money  !  "  I  burst  out  indignantly. 

"  Don't  be  too  proud,  don't  be  too  proud,  humble  зоиг  pride 
only  a  little,  only  for  five  minutes."     He  made  me  sit  down  again. 

229 


He  was  evidently  not  intimidated  by  my  words  or  gestures  ;  hut 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  hear  him  out. 

"  I  must  find  out  quickly,  find  out  quickly,  because  .  .  . 
because  it  will  soon  be  too  late.  You  saw  how  he  swallowed  the 
pill  this  morning,  when  the  officer  mentioned  the  baron  for  Mme. 
Ahmakov." 

I  certainly  demeaned  myself  by  listening  further,  but  my 
curiosity  was  irresistibly  aroused. 

"  Listen,  you  worthless  fellow  I  "  I  said  resolutely.  "  Though 
I'm  sitting  here  listening,  and  allow  you  to  speak  of  such  persons 
.  .  .  and  even  answer  you,  it's  not  in  the  least  that  I  admit  your 
right  to  do  so.  I  simply  see  in  it  some  piece  of  rascality.  .  .  . 
And  in  the  first  place,  what  hopes  can  Prince  Sergay  have  in 
reference  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,  yet  he  is  furious." 

"  That's  untrue  !  " 

"  Yes,  he  is.  Mme.  Ahmakov  is  no  go,  then,  now.  He  has  lost 
that  stake.  Now  he  has  only  Anna  Andreyevna  to  fall  back  on. 
I  will  give  you  two  thousand  .  .  .  without  interest  and  vsdthout 
an  lOU." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this,  he  sat  back  in  his  chair,  with 
a  determined  and  important  expression,  and  stared  goggle-eyed 
at  me.     I  too  stared. 

"  You've  a  suit  from  Bolshaya  Milliona ;  you  need  money, 
you  want  money  ;  my  money's  better  than  his.  I  will  give  you 
more  than  two  thousand  ..." 

"  But  what  for  ?  what  for  ?  damn  it  ail !  "  I  stamped  my 
foot.     He  bent  towards  me  and  brought  out  impressively  : 

'*  For  you  not  to  hinder." 

"  But  I'm  not  interfering  as  it  is,"  I  shouted. 

**  I  know  that  you  are  holding  your  tongue,  that's  excellent." 

"  I  don't  want  your  approbation.  For  my  part  I  am  very 
anxious  for  it  myself,  but  I  consider  it's  not  my  business,  and  in 
fact  that  it  would  be  unseemly  for  me  to  meddle." 

"  There,  you  see,  you  see,  unseemly  !  "  he  held  up  his  finger. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Unseemly  .  .  .  Ha  !  "  and  he  suddenly  laughed.  "  I  under- 
stand, I  understand,  that  it  would  be  unseemly  of  you,  but  .  .  . 
you  won't  interfere  ?  "  he  winked  ;  but  in  that  wink  there  was 
something  so  insolent,  so  iow  and  even  jeering  :  evidently  he  was 
assuming  some  meanness  on  my  part  and  was  reckoning  upon  it ; 
that  was  clear,  but  I  hadn't  a  notion  what  was  meant. 

230 


"  Anna  Anclreyevna  is  your  sister,  too,"  he  pronounced 
insinuatingly. 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  speak  of  that.  And  in  fact  don't  dare 
to  speak  of  Anna  Andreyevna  at  all." 

"  Don't  be  too  proud,  only  one  more  minute  !  Listen  !  he 
will  get  the  money  and  provide  for  every  one,"  Stebelkov  said 
impressively,  "  every  one,  every  one,  you  follow  ?  " 

"  So  you  think  I'll  take  money  from  him  ?  " 

"  You  are  taking  it  now." 

"  I  am  taking  my  own." 

"  How  is  it  your  own  ?  " 

*'  It's  Versilov's  money,  he  owes  Versilov  twenty  thousand." 

"  Versilov  then,  not  you." 

"  Versilov  is  my  father." 

"  No,  you  are  a  Dolgoruky,  not  a  Versilov." 

"  It's  all  the  same."  Yes,  indeed,  I  was  able  to  argue  like  that 
then  !  I  knew  it  was  not  the  same,  I  was  not  so  stupid  ae  all 
that,  but  again  it  was  from  "  delicacy  "  that  I  reasoned  so. 

"  Enough  !  "  I  cried.  "  I  can't  make  out  what  you  are  talking 
about,  and  how  dare  you  ask  me  to  come  for  such  nonsense." 

"  Can  you  really  not  understand  ?  Is  it  on  purpose  or  not  ?  " 
Stebelkov  brought  out  slowly,  looking  at  me  with  a  penetrating 
and  incredulous  smile. 

"  I  swear  I  don't  understand." 

"  I  tell  you  he'll  be  able  to  provide  for  every  one,  every  one  ; 
you've  only  not  to  interfere,  and  don't  try  to  persuade  him," 

"  You  must  have  gone  out  of  your  mind.  Why  do  you  keep 
trotting  out  that  *  every  one.'  Do  you  mean  he'll  provide  for 
Versilov  ?  " 

"  You're  not  the  only  one,  nor  Versilov  either  .  .  .  there  is 
some  one  else,  too,  and  Anna  Andreyevna  is  just  as  much  your 
sister  cw  Lizaveta  Makarovna  !  " 

I  gazed  at  him  open-eyed.  There  was  a  sudden  glimpse  of 
something  like  compassion  for  me  in  his  loathsome  eyes  : 

"  You  don't  understand,  so  much  the  better  !  That's  good, 
very  good,  that  you  don't  understand.  It's  very  laudable  .  .  . 
if  you  really  don't  understand." 

I  was  absolutely  furious. 

"  Go  to  hell  with  your  silly  nonsense,  you  madman !  "  I  shouted, 
taking  up  my  hat. 

"  It's  not  silly  nonsense  !  So  you  are  going,  but  you'll  come 
again,  you  know." 

231 


"  No,"  I  rapped  out  in  the  doorway. 

"  You'll  come,  and  then  we  shall  have  another  talk.     That 
will  be  the  real  talk.     Two  thousand,  remember  1 " 


He  made  such  a  filthy  and  confused  impression  on  me,  that 
when  I  got  out  I  tried  not  to  think  of  it  at  all,  but  dismissed  it 
with  a  curse.     The  idea  that  Prince  Sergay  was  capable  of  talking 
to  him  of  me  and  of  that  money  stabbed  me  like  a  pin.     "  I'll 
win  and  pay  him  back  to-day,"  I  thought  resolutely.     Stupid 
and  inarticulate  as  Stebelkov  was,  I  had  seen  the  full-blown 
scoundrel  in  all  his  glory.     And  what  mattered  most  to  me,  it  was 
impossible  to  avoid  intrigue  in  this  business.     Only  I  had  not  the 
time  just  then  to  go  into  any  sort  of  intrigues,  and  that  may  have 
been  the  chief  reason  why  I  was  as  blind  as  a  hen  !     I  looked 
anxiously  at  my  watch,  but  it  was  not  yet  two  o'clock  ;  so  it  was 
still  possible  to  pay  a  call ;   otherwise  I  should  have  been  worn 
out   with  excitement   before   three  o'clock.     I   went  to   Anna 
Andreyevna  Versilov,  my  sister.      I  had  got  to  know  her  some 
time  before  at  my  old  prince's,  during  his  illness.     He  thought 
that  I  had  not  seen  him  for  three  or  four  days  fretted  my  con- 
science, but   I  was  reckoning  on   Anna  Andreyevna  :    the  old 
prince  had  become  extremely  attached  to  her  of  late,  and  even 
spoke  of  her  to  me  as  his  guardian  angel.     And  by  the  way,  the 
idea  of  marrying  her  to  Prince  Sergay  really  had  occurred  to  the 
old  prince,  and  he  had  even  expressed  it  more  than  once  to  me, 
in  secret  of  course.     I  had  mentioned  this  suggestion  to  Versilov, 
for  I  had  noticed  that  though  he  was  so  indifferent  to  all  the 
practical  affairs  of  life,  he  seemed  particularly  interested  when- 
ever I  told  him  of  my  meeting  Anna  Andreyevna.     \Vhen  I 
mentioned  the  old  prince's  idea,  Versilov  muttered  that  Anna 
Andreyevna  had  plenty  of  sense,  and  was  quite  capable  of  getting 
out  of  a  delicate  position  without  the  advice  of  outsiders.    Stebel- 
kov was  right,  of  coiirse,  in  saying  that  the  old  man  meant  to  give 
her  a  dowry,  but  how  could  he  dare  to  reckon  on  getting  anjrthing 
out  of  it  !     Prince  Sergay  had  shouted  after  him  that  morning 
that  he  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  him  :  surely  Stebelkov  had 
not  actually  spoken  to  him  of  Anna  Andreyevna  in  the  study  ? 
I  could  fancy  how  furious  I  should  have  been  in  Prince  Sergay's 
place. 

232 


I  had  been  to  see  Anna  Andreyevna  pretty  often  of  late. 
But  there  was  one  queer  thing  about  my  visits  :  it  always 
happened  that  she  arranged  for  me  to  come,  and  certainly  ex- 
pected me,  but  when  I  went  in  she  always  made  a  pretence  of  my 
having  come  unexpectedly  and  by  chance  ;  I  noticed  this 
peculiarity  in  her,  but  I  became  much  attached  to  her  neverthe- 
less. She  lived  with  Mme.  Fanariotov,  her  grandmother,  as  an 
adopted  child,  of  course  ( Versilov  had  never  contributed  anything 
for  her  keep),  but  she  was  very  far  from  being  in  the  position 
in  which  the  protegees  of  illustric  us  ladies  are  usually  described  as 
being ;  for  instance,  the  one  in  the  house  of  the  old  countess,  in 
Pushkin's  "  Queen  of  Spades." 

Anna  Andreyevna  was  more  in  the  position  of  the  coimtess 
herself.  She  lived  quite  independently  in  the  house,  that  is  to 
say,  though  on  the  same  storey  and  in  the  same  flat  as  the 
Fanariotovs  she  had  two  rooms  completely  apart,  so  that  I, 
for  instance,  never  once  met  any  of  the  family  as  I  went  in  or 
came  out.  She  was  free  to  receive  any  visitors  she  liked,  and  to 
employ  her  time  as  she  chose.  It  is  true  that  she  was  in  her 
twenty-third  year.  She  had  almost  given  up  going  out  into 
society  of  late,  though  Mme.  Fanariotov  spared  no  expense  for 
her  granddaughter,  of  whom  I  was  told  she  was  very  fond. 
Yet  what  I  particularly  liked  about  Anna  Andreyevna  was  that  I 
always  foimd  her  so  quietly  dressed  and  always  occupied  with 
something,  a  book  or  needlework.  There  was  something  of  the 
convent,  even  of  the  n\m  about  her,  and  I  liked  it  very  much. 
She  was  not  very  talkative,  but  she  always  spoke  with  judgment 
and  knew  how  to  listen,  which  I  never  did.  When  I  told  her  that 
she  reminded  me  of  Versilov,  though  the^  had  not  a  feature  in 
common,  she  always  flushed  a  little.  She  often  blushed  and 
always  quickly,  invariably  with  a  faint  flush,  and  I  particularly 
liked  this  peculiarity  in  her  face.  In  her  presence  I  never  spoke 
of  Versilov  by  his  surname,  but  alwaj^s  called  him  Andrey 
Petrovitch,  and  this  had  somehow  come  to  pass  of  itself.  I 
gathered  indeed  that  the  Fanariotovs  must  have  been  ashamed 
of  Versilov,  though  indeed  I  only  drew  this  conclusion  from 
Anna  Andreyevna,  and  again  I'm  not  sure  that  the  word 
"  ashamed  "  is  appropriate  in  this  connection  ;  but  there  was 
some  feeling  of  that  sort.  I  talked  to  her  too  about  Prince 
Sergay,  and  she  listened  eagerly,  and  was,  I  fancy,  interested  in 
what  I  told  her  of  him  ;  but  it  somehow  happened  that  I  always 
spoke  of  him  of  my  own  accord,  and  she  never  questioned  me 

233 


about  him.  Of  the  possibility  of  a  marriage  between  them  I  had 
never  dared  to  speak,  though  I  often  felt  inclined  to,  for  the  idea 
was  not  without  attraction  for  me.  But  there  were  very  many 
things  of  which,  in  her  room,  I  could  not  have  ventured  to  speak, 
yet  on  the  other  hand  I  felt  very  much  at  home  there.  Another 
thing  I  liked  was  that  she  was  so  well  educated,  and  had  read  so 
much — real  books  too  ;  she  had  read  far  more  than  I  had. 

She  had  in\'ited  me  the  first  time  of  her  own  accord.  1  realized 
even  at  the  time  that  she  might  be  reckoning  on  getting  some 
information  out  of  me  at  one  time  or  another.  Oh,  lots  of  people 
were  able  to  get  information  of  all  sorts  out  of  me  in  those  days  ! 
"  But  what  of  it,"  I  thought,  "  it's  not  only  for  that  that  she's 
asking  me."  In  fact  I  was  positively  glad  to  think  I  might  be 
of  use  to  her  .  .  .  and  when  I  sat  with  her  I  always  felt  that 
I  had  a  sister  sitting  beside  me,  though  we  never  once  spoke 
of  our  relationship  by  so  much  as  a  word  or  a  hint,  but  behaved 
as  though  it  did  not  exist  at  all.  When  I  was  with  her  it  was 
absolutely  unthinkable  to  speak  of  it,  and  indeed  looking  at  her 
I  Avas  struck  with  the  absurd  notion  that  she  might  perhaps 
know  nothing  of  our  relationship — so  Completely  did  she  ignore 
it  in  her  manner  to  me. 


When  I  went  in  I  found  Liza  with  her.  This  almost  astonished 
me.  I  knew  very  well  that  they  had  seen  each  other  before  ; 
they  had  met  over  the  ''  baby."  I  will  perhaps  later  on,  if  I  have 
space,  tell  Ьолу  Anna  Andreyevna,  always  so  proud  andso  delicate, 
was  possessed  by  the  fantastic  desire  to  see  that  baby,  and  how 
she  had  there  met  Liza.  But  yet  I  had  not  expected  that  Anna 
Andreyevna  would  ever  have  invited  Liza  to  come  to  see  her. 
It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to  me.  Giving  no  sign  of  this,  of  coiu-se, 
I  greeted  Anna  Andreyevna,  and  warmly  pressing  Liza's  hand 
sat  down  beside  her.  Both  were  busily  occupied  :  spread  out 
on  the  table  and  on  their  knees  was  an  evening  dress  of  Anna 
Andreyevna's,  expensive  but  "  old,"  that  is,  worn  three  times  ; 
and  Anna  Andreyevna  wanted  to  alter  it.  Liza  was  "  a  master- 
hand  "  at  such  work,  and  had  real  taste,  and  so  a  "  solemn  council 
of  wise  women  "  was  being  held.  I  recalled  Versilov's  words  and 
laughed  ;  and  indeed  I  was  in  a  radiantly  happy  state  of  mind. 
*'  You  are  in  very  good  spirits  to-day  and  that's  very  pleasant," 
observed  Anna  Andreyevna,  uttering  her  words  gravely  and 

234 


distinctly.  Her  voice  was  a  rich  mellow  contralto,  and  she  always 
spoke  quietly  and  gently,  with  a  droop  of  her  long  eyelashes,  and 
a  faint  smile  on  her  pale  face, 

"  Liza  knows  how  disagreeable  I  am  when  I  am  not  in  good 
spirits,"  I  answered  gaily. 

"  Perhaps  Anna  Andreyevna  knows  that  too,"  mischievous 
Liza  gibed  at  me.  My  darUng  1  If  I  had  known  what  was  on 
her  mind  at  that  time  ! 

"  What  are  you  doing  now  1  "  asked  Anna  Andreyevna.  (I 
may  remark  that  she  had  asked  me  to  come  and  see  her  that  day.) 

"  I  am  sitting  here  wondering  why  I  always  prefer  to  find 
you  reading  rather  than  with  needlework.  Yes,  really  needle- 
work doesn't  suit  you,  somehow.  I  agree  with  Andrey  Petrovitch 
about  that." 

"  You  have  still  not  made  up  your  miad  to  enter  the  university, 
then  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  not  having  forgotten  our 
conversation  :    it  shows  you  think  of  me  sometimes,  but  .  . 
about  the  university  my  ideas  axe  not  quite  definite  .  .  .  besides, 
I  have  plans  of  my  own." 

"  That  means  he  has  a  secret,"  observed  Liza. 

"  Leave  off  joking,  Liza.  Some  clever  person  said  the  other 
day  that  by  our  progressive  movement  of  the  last  twenty  years, 
we  had  proved  above  everything  that  we  are  filthily  uneducated. 
That  was  meant  for  ош:  university  men,  too." 

"  No  doubt  father  said  that,"  remarked  Liza,  "  you  very  often 
repeat  his  ideas." 

"  Liza,  you  seem  to  think  I've  no  mind  of  my  own." 

"  In  these  days  it's  a  good  thing  to  listen  to  inteihgent  men, 
and  repeat  their  words,"  said  Anna  Andreyevna,  taking  my  part 
a  little. 

"  Just  so,  Anna  Andreyevna,"  I  assented  warmly.  "  The  man 
who  doesn't  think  of  the  position  of  Russia  to-day  is  no  patriot ! 
I  look  at  Russia  perhaps  from  a  strange  point  of  view  :  we  lived 
through  the  Tatar  invasion,  and  afterwards  two  centuries  of 
slavery,  no  doubt  because  they  both  suited  oiu:  tastes.  Now 
freedom  has  been  given  us,  and  we  have  to  put  up  with  freedom  : 
shall  we  know  how  to  ?  Will  freedom,  too,  turn  out  to  suit  our 
taste  ?     That's  the  question." 

Liza  glanced  quickly  at  Anna  Andreyevna,  and  the  latter 
immediately  cast  down  her  eyes  and  began  looking  about  for 
something ;   I  saw  that  Liza  was  doing  her  utmost  to  «control 

235 


herself  but  all  at  once  our  eyes  chanced  to  meet,  and  she  burst 
into  a  fit  of  laughter  ;   I  flared  up. 

"  Liza,  you  are  insupportable  !  " 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  she  said  suddenly,  leaving  off  laughing  and 
speaking  almost  sadly.  "  Goodness  knows  what  I  can  be  think- 
ing about  .  .  ." 

And  there  was  a  tremor  almost  as  of  tears  in  her  voice.  I  felt 
horribly  ashamed  ;  I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  warmly. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  Anna  Andreyevna  said  softly,  seeing 
me  kiss  Liza's  hand. 

"  I  am  awfully  glad  that  I  have  foimd  you  laughing  this  time, 
Liza,"  I  said.  "  Would  you  believe  it,  Anna  Andreyevna,  every 
time  I  have  met  her  lately  she  has  greeted  me  with  a  strange 
look,  and  that  look  seemed  to  ask,  '  has  he  found  out  something  1 
is  everything  all  right  ?  '  Really,  there  has  been  something  like 
that  about  her." 

Anna  Andreyevna  looked  keenly  and  deliberately  at  her. 
Liza  dropped  her  eyes.  I  could  see  very  clearly,  however,  that 
they  were  on  much  closer  and  more  intimate  terms  than  I  could 
have  possibly  imagined  ;  the  thought  was  pleasant. 

"  You  told  me  just  now  that  I  am  good  ;  you  would  not 
believe,  Anna  Andreyevna,  how  much  I  change  for  the  better 
when  I'm  with  you,  and  how  much  I  like  being  with  you,"  I  said 
with  warmth. 

"  I  am  awfiilly  glad  that  you  say  that  just  now,"  she  answered 
with  peculiar  significance.  I  must  mention  that  she  never  spoke 
to  me  of  the  reckless  way  I  was  Uving,  and  the  depths  to  which 
I  was  sinking,  although  (I  knew  it)  she  was  not  only  aware  of  all 
this,  but  even  made  inquiries  about  it  indirectly. 

So  that  this  now  was  something  like  the  first  hint  on  the 
subject,  and  my  heart  turned  to  her  more  warmly  than  ever. 

"  How  is  our  patient  1  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  he  is  much  better  ;  he  is  up,  and  he  went  for  a  drive 
yesterday  and  again  to-day.  You  don't  mean  to  say  you 
have  not  been  to  see  him  to-day  ?  He  is  eagerly  expecting 
you." 

"  I  have  behaved  very  badly  to  him,  but  now  you're  looking 
after  him,  and  have  quite  taken  my  place  ;  he  is  a  gay  deceiver, 
and  has  thrown  me  over  for  you." 

A  serious  look  came  into  her  face,  very  possibly  becau.se  my 
tone  was  rather  too  flippant. 

"  I  have  just  been  at  Prince  Scrgaj^'s,"  I  muttered,  "  and  I 

236 


...  by  the  way,  Liza,  you  went  to  see  Darya  Onisimovna  this 
morning,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  briefly,  without  raising  her  head.  "  But 
you  do  go  to  see  the  invalid  every  day,  I  beUeve,  don't  you  ?  " 
she  asked  suddenly,  probably  in  order  to  say  something. 

"  Yes,  I  go  to  see  him,  but  I  don't  get  there,"  I  said  laughing. 
"  I  go  in  and  turn  to  the  left." 

"  Even  the  prince  has  noticed  that  you  go  to  see  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  very  often.  He  was  speaking  of  it  yesterday  and 
laughing,"  said  Anna  Andreyevna. 

"  What,  what  did  he  laugh  at  ?  " 

"  He  was  joking,  you  know  his  way.  He  said  that,  on  the 
contrary,  the  only  impression  that  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman  makes  on  a  yoxmg  man  of  your  age  is  one  of  anger  and 
indignation,"  Anne  Andreyevna  broke  into  sudden  laughter. 

"  Listen  .  .  .  that  was  a  very  shrewd  saying  of  his,"  I  cried. 
"  Most  likely  it  was  not  he  said  it,  but  you  said  it  to  him." 

"  Why  so  ?   No,  it  was  he  said  it." 

"  Well,  but  suppose  the  beautiful  lady  takes  notice  of  him, 
in  spite  of  his  being  so  insignificant,  of  his  standing  in  the  corner 
and  fuming  at  the  thought  that  he  is  '  only  a  boy ' ;  suppose  she 
suddenly  prefers  him  to  the  whole  crowd  of  admirers  smrounding 
her,  what  then  ?  "  I  asked  with  a  bold  and  defiant  air.  My  head 
was  throbbing. 

"  Then  you  are  completely  done  for,"  laughed  Liza. 

"  Done  for,"  I  cried.  "  No,  I'm  not  done  for.  I  believe  that's 
false.  If  a  woman  stands  across  my  path  she  must  follow  me.  I 
am  not  going  to  be  turned  aside  from  my  path  with  impunity. . . ." 

I  remember  Liza  once  happened  to  mention  long  afterwards 
that  I  pronounced  this  phrase  very  strangely,  earnestly,  and  аз 
though  reflecting  deeply  :  and  at  the  same  time  it  was  "  so  absurd, 
it  was  impossible  to  keep  from  laughing  "  ;  Anna  Andreyevna  did, 
in  fact,  laugh  again. 

"  Laugh  at  me,  laugh  алуау,"  I  cried  in  exultation,  for  I  was 
dehghted  with  the  whole  conversation  and  the  tone  of  it ;  "  from 
you  it's  a  pleasure  to  me.  I  love  your  laugh,  Anne  Andre3^evna  1 
It's  a  peculiarity  of  yours  to  keep  perfectly  quiet,  and  then 
suddenly  laugh,  all  in  one  minute,  so  that  an  instant  before  one 
could  not  guess  what  was  coming  from  your  face.  I  used  to  know 
a  lady  in  Moscow,  I  used  to  sit  in  a  corner  and  watch  her  from  a 
distance.  She  was  almost  as  handsome  as  you  are,  but  she  did 
not  know  how  to  laugh  like  you  ;   her  face  was  as  attractive  аз 

237 


yours,  but  it  lost  all  its  attractiveness  when  she  laughed  ;  what's 
so  particularly  attractive  in  you  ...  is  just  that  faculty.  .  .  . 
I  have  been  meaning  to  tell  you  so  for  a  long  time." 

When  I  said  of  this  Moscow  lady  that  "  she  was  as  handsome 
as  you "  I  was  not  quite  ingenuous.  I  pretended  that  the 
phrase  had  dropped  from  me  unawares,  without  my  noticing  it : 
I  knew  very  well  that  such  "  unconscious  "  praise  is  more  highly 
valued  by  a  woman  than  the  most  polished  compliment.  And 
though  Anna  Andreyevna  might  flush,  I  knew  that  it  pleased  her. 
And  indeed  I  invented  the  lady  :  I  had  known  no  such  lady  in 
Moscow  ;  I  had  said  so  simply  to  compliment  Anna  Andreyevna, 
and  give  her  pleasure. 

"  One  really  might  imagine,"  she  said  with  a  charming  laugh, 
**  that  you  had  come  under  the  influence  of  some  fair  lady  during 
the  last  few  days." 

I  felt  I  was  being  carried  away  ...  I  longed  indeed  to  tell 
them  something  .  .  .  but  I  refrained. 

"  By  the  way,  only  lately  you  spoke  of  Katerina  Nikolaevna 
with  very  hostile  feelings." 

"  If  I  did  speak  ill  of  her  in  any  way,"  I  cried  with  flashing  eyes, 
"  what's  to  blame  for  it  is  the  monstrous  slander — that  she  is  an 
enemy  of  Andrey  Petrovitch's  ;  there's  a  Ubcllous  story  about  him, 
too,  that  he  was  in  love  with  her,  made  her  an  offer  and  other 
absurdities  of  the  sort.  The  notion  is  as  grotesque  as  the 
other  scandalous  story,  that  during  her  husband's  lifetime  she 
promised  Prince  Sergay  to  marry  him  as  soon  as  she  should  be  a 
widow,  and  afterwards  would  not  keep  her  word.  But  I  have  it 
first  hand  that  it  was  not  so  at  all,  and  that  it  was  all  only  a  joke. 
I  know  it  first  hand.  She  did,  in  fact,  when  she  was  abroad,  say 
to  him  in  a  playful  moment :  '  Perhaps  in  the  future  '  ;  but  what 
did  that  amount  to  beyond  an  idle  word  ?  I  know  very  well 
that  the  prince  on  his  side  can  attach  no  sort  of  consequence 
to  such  a  promise  ;  and  indeed  he  has  no  intention  of  doing  so," 
I  added  on  second  thoughts.  "  I  fancy  he  has  very  different  ideas 
in  his  head,"  I  put  in  slily.  "  Nastchokin  said  this  morning  at 
Prince  Sergay's  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  was  to  be  married  to 
Baron  Biiring.  I  assure  you  he  received  the  news  with  the 
greatest  equanimity,  you  can  take  my  word  for  it." 

"  Has  Nastchokin  been  at  Prince  Sergay's  ?  "  Anna  Andreyevna 
asked  with  grave  emphasis,  apparently  surprised. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  he  seems  to  be  one  of  those  highly  respectable 
people  .  .  ." 

238 


"  And  did  Nastchokin  speak  to  him  of  this  match  with  Buring  ?  " 
asked  Anna  Andreyevna,  showing  sudden  interest. 

"  Not  of  the  match,  but  of  the  possibility  of  one — he  spoke  of 
it  as  a  rumour ;  he  said  there  was  such  a  rumour  going  the  round 
of  the  drawing-rooms  :  for  my  part  I  am  certain  it's  nonsense." 

Anna  Andreyevna  pondered  a  moment  and  bent  over  her 
sewing. 

"  I  love  Prince  Sergay,"  I  added  suddenly  with  warmth. 
"  He  has  his  failings,  no  doubt ;  I  have  told  you  so  already, 
especially  a  certain  tendency  to  be  obsessed  by  one  idea  .  .  . 
and,  indeed,  his  faults  are  a  proof  of  the  generosity  of  his  heart, 
aren't  they  ?  But  we  almost  had  a  quarrel  with  him  to-day 
about  an  idea  ;  it's  his  conviction  that  one  must  be  honourable 
if  one  talks  of  what's  honourable,  if  not,  all  that  you  say  is  a  lie. 
Now,  is  that  logical  ?  Yet  it  shows  the  high  standard  of  honesty, 
duty,  and  truth  in  his  soul,  doesn't  it  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  good  heavens, 
what  time  is  it,"  I  cried,  suddenly  happening  to  glance  at  the 
clock  on  the  wall. 

"  Ten  minutes  to  three,"  she  responded  tranquilly,  looking  at 
the  clock.  All  the  time  I  had  talked  of  Prince  Sergay  she  listened 
to  me  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  with  a  rather  sly  but  charming 
smile  :  she  knew  why  I  was  praising  him.  Liza  listened  with  her 
head  bent  over  her  work.  For  some  time  past  she  had  taken  no 
part  in  the  conversation. 

I  jumped  up  as  though  I  were  scalded. 

"  Are  you  late  for  some  appointment  ?  " 

"  Yes  .  .  .  No  ...  I  am  late  though,  but  I  am  just  off. 
One  word  only,  Anna  Andreyevna,"  I  began  with  feeling  ;  "I 
can't  help  telling  you  to-day  !  I  want  to  confess  that  I  have  often 
blessed  your  kindness,  and  the  delicacy  with  which  you  have 
invited  me  to  see  you.  .  .  .  My  acquaintance  with  you  has  made 
the  strongest  impression  on  me.  ...  In  your  room  I  am,  as  it 
were,  spiritually  purified,  and  I  leave  you  better  than  when  I 
came.  That's  true.  When  I  sit  beside  you  I  am  not  only  unable 
to  speak  of  anything  evil,  I  am  incapable  even  of  evil  thoughts  ; 
they  vanish  away  in  your  presence  and,  if  I  recall  anything  evil 
after  seeing  you,  I  feel  ashamed  of  it  at  once,  I  am  cast  down  and 
blush  inwardly.  And  do  you  know,  it  pleased  me  particularly  to 
find  my  sister  with  you  to-day.  .  .  .  It's  a  proof  of  your 
generosity  ...  of  such  a  fine  attitude.  ...  In  one  word,  you 
have  shown  something  so  sisterly,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  break 
the  ice,  to  .  .  ." 

239 


As  I  spoke  she  got  up  from  her  seat,  and  turned  more  and  more 
crimson  ;  but  suddenly  she  seemed  in  alarm  at  something,  at  the 
overstepping  of  some  line  which  should  not  have  been  crossed, 
and  she  quickly  interrupted  me. 

'*  I  assure  you  I  appreciate  your  feelings  with  all  my  heart. 
...  I  have  understood  them  without  words  for  a  long  time 
past.  .  .  ." 

She  paused  in  confusion,  pressing  my  hand.  Liza,  unseen 
by  her,  suddenly  pulled  at  my  sleeve.  I  said  good-bye  and  went 
out,  but  Liza  overtook  me  in  the  next  room. 


"  Liza,  why  did  you  tug  at  my  sleeve  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  She  is  horrid,  she  is  cunning,  she  is  not  worth  it.  .  .  .  She 
keeps  hold  of  you  to  get  something  out  of  you,"  she  murmmred 
in  a  rapid,  angry  whisper.  I  had  never  before  seen  such  a  look 
on  her  face. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  Liza  !  she  is  such  a  delightful  girl  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  I'm  horrid." 

"  \Vhat's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  nasty.  She  may  be  the  most  delightful  girl,  and 
I  am  nasty.  That's  enough,  let  me  alone.  Listen  :  mother 
implores  you  about  something  '  of  which  she  does  not  dare  to 
speak,'  so  she  said,  Arkady  darling  !  Give  up  gambling,  dear 
one,  I  entreat  you  .  .  .  and  so  does  mother.  .  .  ." 

"  Liza,  I  know,  but  ...  I  know  that  it's  pitiful  cowardice, 
but  .  .  .  but  it's  all  of  no  consequence,  really  !  You  see  I've 
got  into  debt  like  a  fool,  and  I  want  to  win  simply  to  pay  it  off. 
I  can  win,  for  til]  now  I've  been  playing  at  random,  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing,  like  a  fool,  but  now  I  shall  tremble  over  every  rouble. 
...  It  won't  be  me  if  I  don't  win  !  I  have  not  got  a  passion 
for  it ;  it's  not  important,  it's  simply  a  passing  thing  ;  I  assure  you 
I  am  too  strong  to  be  unable  to  stop  when  1  like.  I'll  pay  back 
the  money  and  then  I  shall  be  altogether  yours,  and  tell  mother 
that  I  shall  stay  with  you  always.  .  .  .** 

"  That  three  hundred  roubles  cost  you  something  this 
morning  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  I  asked,  startled. 

"  Darya  Onisimovna  heard  it  all  this  morning  .  .  .*" 

But  at  that  moment  Liza  pushed  me  behind  the  спгслш,  and 

240 


we  found  ourselves  in  the  so-called  "  lantern,"  that  is  a  little 
circular  room  with  windows  all  round  it.  Before  I  knew 
where  we  were  I  caught  the  sound  of  a  voice  I  knew,  and  the 
clang  of  spurs,  and  recognized  a  famihar  footstep. 

"  Prince  Sergay,"  I  whispered. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"  Why  are  you  so  frightened  ?  " 

"  It's  nothing  ;  I  don't  want  him  to  meet  me." 

*'  Tiens,  you  don't  mean  to  say  he's  trying  to  flirt  with  you  ?  " 
I  said  smiling.  "  I'd  give  it  to  him  if  he  did.  Where  are  you 
going  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go,  I  will  come  with  you." 

"  Have  you  said  good-bye  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  coat's  in  the  hall." 

We  went  out ;   on  the  stairs  I  was  struck  by  an  idea. 

"  Do  you  know,  Liza,  he  may  have  come  to  make  her  an 
offer  !  " 

"  N-n-no  ...  he  won't  make  her  an  offer  .  .  ."  she  said 
firmly  and  deliberately,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  don't  know,  Liza,  though  I  quarrelled  with  him  this 
morning — since  you've  been  told  of  it  already — yet  on  my  honour 
I  really  love  him  and  wish  him  success.  We  made  it  up  this 
morning.  When  we  are  happy  we  are  so  good-natured.  .  .  . 
One  sees  in  him  many  fine  tendencies  .  .  .  and  he  has  humane 
feelings  too.  .  .  .  The  rudiments  anyway  .  .  .  and  in  the  hands 
of  such  a  strong  and  clever  girl  as  Anna  Andreyevna,  he 
would  rise  to  her  level  and  be  happy.  I  am  sorry  I've  no  time 
to  spare  .  .  .  but  let  us  go  a  little  way  together,  I  should  like  to 
tell  you  something.  . ,.  ." 

"  No,  you  go  on,  I'm  not  going  that  way.  Are  you  coming  to 
dinner  ?  " 

"  I  am  coming,  I  am  coming  as  I  promised.  Listen,  Liza, 
a  low  brute,  a  loathsome  creatur^  in  fact,  called  Stebelkov,  has  a 
strange  influence  over  his  doings  ...  an  lOU.  ...  In  short 
he  has  him  in  his  power,  and  he  has  pressed  him  so  hard,  and 
Prince  Sergay  has  humiliated  himself  so  far  that  neither  of  them 
see  any  way  out  of  it  except  an  offer  to  Anna  Andreyevna.  And 
really  she  ought  to  be  warned,  though  that's  nonsense  ;  she  will 
set  it  all  to  rights  later.  But  what  do  you  think,  will  she  refuse 
him  ?  " 

"  Gocd-bye,  I  am  late,"  Liza  muttered,  and  in  the"  momentarj- 
look  on  her  face  I  saw  such  hatred  that  I  cried  out  in  horror  : 

241 


"  Liza,  darling,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  angry  with  you  ;  only  don't  gamble.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  you  are  talking  of  that ;  I'm  not  going  to." 

"  You  said  just  now  :  *  when  we  are  happy.'  Are  you  very 
happy  then  ?  " 

"  Awfully,  Liia,  awfully  !  Good  heavens,  why  it's  past  three 
o'clock  !  .  .  .  Good-bye,  Liza.  Lizotchka  darling,  tell  me  : 
can  one  keep  a  woman  waiting  ?     Isn't  it  inexcusable  ?  " 

"  Waiting  to  meet  you,  do  you  mean  ? "  said  Liza  faintly 
smiling,  with  a  sort  of  lifeless,  trembling  smile. 

"  Give  me  your  hand  for  luck." 

"  For  luck  ?  my  hand  ?     I  won't,  not  for  anything.'* 

She  walked  away  quickly.  And  she  had  exclaimed  it  so 
earnestly  !     I  jumped  into  my  sledge. 

Yes,  yes,  this  was  "  happiness,"  and  it  was  the  chief  reason  why 
I  was  as  blind  as  a  mole,  and  had  no  eyes  or  understanding,  except 
for  myself. 


CHAPTER  IV 


Now  I  am  really  afraid  to  tell  my  story.  It  all  happened  long 
ago  ;  and  it  is  all  like  a  mirage  to  me  now.  How  could  such  a 
woman  possibly  have  arranged  a  rendezvous  with  such  a  con- 
temptible urchin  as  I  was  then  ?  Yet  so  it  seemed  at  first  sight ! 
When,  leaving  Liza,  I  raced  along  with  my  heart  throbbing,  I 
really  thought  that  I  had  gone  out  of  my  mind  :  the  idea  that 
she  had  granted  me  this  interview  suddenly  appeared  to  me  such 
an  obvious  absurdity,  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  believe 
in  it.  And  yet  I  had  not  the  faintest  doubt  of  it ;  the  more 
obviously  absurd  it  seemed,  the  more  impUcitly  I  beUeved  in  it. 
The  fact  that  it  had  already  struck  three  troubled  me  :  "  If 
an  interview  has  been  granted  me,  how  can  I  possibly  be  late 
for  it,"  I  thought.  Foolish  questions  crossed  my  mind,  too, 
such  as  :  "  Which  was  my  better  course  now,  boldness  or 
timidity  ?  "  But  all  this  only  flashed  through  my  mind  because 
I  had  something  of  real  value  in  my  heart,  which  I  could  not  have 
defined.  What  had  been  said  the  evening  before  was  this  : 
*'  To-morrow  at  three  o'clock  I  shall  be  at  Tatyana  Pavlovna's," 
that  was  all.     But  in  the  first  place,  she  always  received  me  alone 

242 


in  her  own  room,  and  she  could  have  said  anything  she  liked  to 
me  there,  without  going  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  for  the  purpose  ; 
so  why  have  appointed  another  place  of  meeting  ?  And  another 
question  was  :  would  Tatyana  Pavlovna  be  at  home  or  not  ? 
If  it  were  a  tryst  then  Tatyana  Pavlovna  would  not  be  at  home. 
And  how  could  this  have  been  arranged  without  telling  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  beforehand  ?  Then  was  Tatyana  Pavlovna  in  the 
secret  ?  This  idea  seemed  to  me  wild,  and  in  a  way  indelicate, 
almost  coarse. 

And,  in  fact,  she  might  simply  have  been  going  to  see  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  and  have  mentioned  the  fact  to  me  the  previous 
evening  with  no  object  in  view,  but  I  had  misunderstood  her. 
And,  indeed,  it  had  been  said  so  casually,  so  quickly,  and  after  a 
very  tedious  visit.  I  was  for  some  reason  overcome  with  stupidity 
the  whole  evening :  I  sat  and  mumbled,  and  did  not  know  Avhat 
to  say,  raged  inwardly,  and  was  horribly  shy,  and  she  was 
going  out  somewhere,  as  I  learnt  later,  and  was  evidently 
relieved  when  I  got  up  to  go.  All  these  reflections  surged  into 
my  mind.  I  made  up  my  mind  at  last  that  when  I  arrived  I 
would  ring  the  bell.  "  The  cook  will  open  the  door,"  I  thought, 
"and  I  shall  ask  whether  Tatyana  Pavlovna  is  at  home. 
If  she  is  not  then  it's  a  tryst."  But  I  had  no  doubt  of  it,  no 
doubt  of  it ! 

I  ran  up  the  stairs  and  when  I  was  at  the  door  all  my  fears 
vanished.  "  Come  what  may,"  I  thought,  "  if  only  it's  quickly  !  " 
The  cook.opened  the  door  and  with  revolting  apathy  snuffled  out 
that  Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  not  at  home.  "  But  isn't  there 
some  one  else  ?  Isn't  there  some  one  waiting  for  her  ?  "  I  wanted 
to  ask,  but  I  did  not  ask,  "  I'd  better  see  for  myself,"  and 
muttering  to  the  cook  that  I  would  wait,  I  took  off  my  fur  coat 
and  opened  the  door.  .  .  . 

Katerina  Nikolaevna  was  sitting  at  the  window  "  waiting  for 
Tatyana  Pavlovna." 

"  Isn't  she  at  home  1  "  she  suddenly  asked  me,  in  a  tone  of 
anxiety  and  annoyance  as  soon  as  she  saw  me.  And  her  face 
and  her  voice  were  so  utterly  incongruous  with  what  I  had 
expected  that  I  came  to  a  full  stop  in  the  doorway. 

"  Who's  not  at  home  ?  "  I  muttered. 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna  !  Why,  I  asked  you  yesterday  to  teil 
her  that  I  would  be  with  her  at  three  o'clock." 

"  I  ...  I  have  not  seen  her  at  all." 

*'  Did  you  forget  ?  " 

243 


I  sat  completely  overwhelmed.  So  this  was  all  it  meant ! 
iVnd  the  worst  of  it  was  it  was  all  as  clear  as  twice  two  makes 
four,  and  I — I  had  all  this  while  persisted  in  believing  it. 

"  I  don't  remember  your  asking  me  to  tell  her.  And  in  fact 
you  didn't  ask  me  :  you  simply  said  you  would  be  here  at  three 
o'clock,"  I  burst  out  impatiently,  I  did  not  look  at  her. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried  suddenly  ;  "  but  if  you  forgot  to  tell  her, 
though  you  knew  I  should  be  here,  what  has  brought  you  here  1  " 

I  raised  my  head  ;  there  was  no  trace  of  mockery  or  anger  in 
her  face,  there  was  only  her  bright,  gay  smile,  and  a  look  more 
mischievous  than  usual.  Though,  indeed,  her  face  always  had 
an  expression  of  almost  childish  mischief. 

"  There,  you  see  I've  caught  you  ;  well,  what  are  you  going  to 
say  now  ?  "   her  whole  face  seemed  to  be  saying. 

I  did  not  want  to  answer  and  looked  down  again.  The  silence 
lasted  half  a  minute. 

"  Have  you  just  come  from  papa  1  "    she  asked. 

"  I  have  come  from  Anna  Andre  ye  vna's,  I  haven't  been  to 
see  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch  at  all  .  .  .  and  you  know  that," 
I  added  suddenly. 

"  Did  anything  happen  to  you  at  Anna  Andreyevna's  ?  " 

"  You  mean  that  I  look  as  though  I  were  crazy  ?  But  I  looked 
crazy  before  I  went  to  Anna  Andreyevna." 

"  And  you  didn't  recover  your  wits  there  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't.  And  what's  more  I  heard  that  you  were  going 
to  marry  Baron  Buring." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  that  ?  "   she  asked  with  sudden  interest. 

"  No,  it  was  I  told  her ;  I  heard  Nastchokin  tell  Prince  Sergay 
3o  this  morning." 

I  still  kept  my  eyes  cast  down  and  did  not  look  at  her  ;  to 
look  at  her  meant  to  be  flooded  with  radiance,  joy,  and  happiness, 
and  I  did  not  want  to  be  happy.  Indignation  had  stung  me  to 
the  heart,  and  in  one  instant  I  had  taken  a  tremendous  resolution. 
Then  I  began  to  speak,  I  hardly  knew  what  about.  I  was  breath- 
less, and  spoke  indistinctly,  but  I  looked  at  her  boldly.  My  heart 
was  throbbing.  I  began  talking  of  something  quite  irrelevant, 
though  perhaps  not  incoherently.  At  first  she  listened  with  a 
serene,  patient  smile,  which  never  left  her  face,  but  httle  by  little 
ftigns  of  surprise  and  then  of  alarm  passed  over  her  countenance. 
The  smile  still  persisted,  but  from  time  to  time  it  seemed  tremu- 
lous. "  What's  the  matter  1  "  I  asked  her,  noticing  that  she 
shuddered  all  over. 

244 


"  I  am  afraid  of  you,"  she  answered,  almost  in  trepidation. 

"Why  don't  you  go  away  ?"Isaid.  "AsTatyanaPavlovnaisnot 
at  home,  and  you  know  she  won't  be,  you  ought  to  get  up  and  go." 

"  I  meant  to  wait  for  her,  but  now  .  .  .  really.  .  .  ." 

She  made  a  movement  to  get  up. 

"  No,  no,  sit  doA\-n,"  I  said,  stopping  her ;  "  there, you  shuddered 
again,  but  you  smile  even  when  you're  frightened,  .  .  .  You 
always  have  a  smile.     There,  now  you  are  smiling  all  over.  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  raving." 

"  Yes,  I  am." 

"  I  am  frightened  .   .   ."  she  whispered  again. 

"  Frightened  of  what  ?  " 

"  That  you'll  begin  Icnocking  down  the  walls  .  .  ."  she  smiled 
again,  though  she  really  was  scared. 

"  I  can't  endm-e  your  smile  .  .  .  !  " 

And  I  talked  away  again.  I  plunged  headlong.  It  was  as 
though  something  had  given  me  a  shove.  I  had  never,  never 
talked  to  her  like  that,  I  had  always  been  shy.  I  was  fearfully 
shy  now,  but  I  talked  ;  I  remember  I  talked  about  her  face. 

*'  I  can't  endure  your  smile  any  longer  !  "  I  cried  suddenly. 
"Why  did  I  even  in  Moscow  picture  you  as  menacing, magnificent, 
using  venomous  drawing-room  phrases  ?  Yes,  even  before  I 
left  Moscow,  I  used  to  talk  with  Marie  Ivanovna  about  you, 
and  imagined  what  you  must  be  like.  .  .  .  Do  you  remember 
Marie  Ivanovna  ?  You've  been  in  her  house.  When  I  was  coming 
here  I  dreamed  of  you  all  night  in  the  train.  For  a  whole  month 
before  you  came  I  gazed  at  yoiu-  portrait,  in  your  father's  study, 
and  could  make  nothing  of  it.  The  expression  of  your  face  is 
childish  mischief  and  bomidless  good-nature — there !  I  have  been 
marvelling  at  it  all  the  time  I've  been  coming  to  see  you.  Oh, 
and  you  know  how  to  look  haughty  and  to  crush  one  with  a 
glance.  I  remember  ho\v  you  looked  at  me  at  your  father's 
that  day  when  you  had  arrived  from  Moscow  .  .  .  I  saw  you  then, 
but  if  you  were  to  ask  me  how  I  went  out  of  the  room  or  what 
you  were  like,  I  could  not  tell  you — I  could  not  even  have  told 
whether  you  were  tall  or  short.  As  soon  as  I  saw  you  I  was 
blinded.  Your  portrait  is  not  in  the  least  like  you  :  your  eyes 
are  not  dark,  but  light,  it's  only  the  long  eyelashes  that  make 
them  look  dark.  You  are  plump,  you  are  neither  tall  nor  short, 
you  have  a  buxom  fulbicss,  the  light  full  figure  of  a  healthy 
peasant  girl.  And  your  face  is  quite  countrified,  too,  it's  the 
face  of  a  village  beauty — don't  be  offended.     \\'hy,  it's  fine,  it's 

245 


better  so — a  round,  rosy,  clear,  bold,  laughing,  and  .  .  .  bashful 
face !  Really,  bashful.  Bashful !  of  Katerina  Nikolaevna 
Ahmakov  !  Bashful  and  chaste,  I  swear  !  More  than  chaste — 
childlike  ! — that's  your  face  !  I  have  been  astounded  by  it  all 
this  time,  and  have  been  asljing  myself,  is  the  woman  so,  too  1 
I  know  now  that  you  are  very  clever,  but  do  you  know,  at  first 
I  thought  you  were  a  simpleton  ?  You  have  a  bright  and  lively 
mind,  but  without  embellishments  of  any  sort.  .  .  .  Another 
thing  I  like  is  that  your  smile  never  deserts  you  ;  that's  my 
paradise  !  I  love  your  calmness,  too,  your  quietness,  and  your 
uttering  your  words  so  smoothly,  so  calmly  and  almost  lazily, 
it's  just  that  laziness  I  like,  I  believe  if  a  bridge  were  to  break 
down  imder  you,  you  would  say  something  in  a  smooth  and 
even  voice.  ...  I  imagined  you  as  the  acme  of  pride  and 
passion,  and  for  the  last  two  months  you've  been  talking  to  me 
as  one  student  talks  to  another.  I  never  imagined  that  you  had 
such  a  brow  ;  it's  rather  low,  like  the  foreheads  of  statues,  but 
soft  and  as  white  as  marble,  imder  your  glorious  hair.  Your 
bosom  is  high,  your  movements  are  light.  You  are  extraordinarily 
beautiful,  but  there's  no  pride  about  you.  It's  only  now  I've 
come  to  believe  it,  I've  disbelieved  in  it  all  this  time  !  " 

She  listened  to  this  wild  tirade  with  large  wide-open  eyes,  she 
saw  that  I  was  trembling.  Several  times  she  lifted  her  gloved 
hand  with  a  charming  apprehensive  gesture  to  stop  me,  but  every 
time  she  drew  it  back  in  dismay  and  perplexity.  Sometimes  she 
even  stepped  back  a  little.  Two  or  three  times  the  smile  lighted 
up  her  face  again  ;  at  one  time  she  flushed  very  red,  but  in  the 
end  was  really  frightened  and  turned  pale.  As  soon  as  I  stopped 
she  held  out  her  hand,  and  in  a  voice  that  was  still  even,  though 
it  had  a  note  of  entreaty,  said  : 

"  You  must  not  say  that  .  .  .  you  can't  talk  like  that.  .  .  ." 
And  suddenly  she  got  up  from  her  place,  deliberately  gathering 
up  her  scarf  and  sable  muff. 
"  Are  you  going  1  "  I  cried. 

"  I'm  really  afraid  of    you  .  .  .  you  are  abusing  .  .  ."  she 

articulated  slowly  and  as  it  were  with  compassion  and  reproach. 

"  Listen,  on  my  honour  I  won't  knock  down  the  walls." 

"  But  you've  begun   already,"   she  could  not  refrain  from 

smiling.     "  I  don't  even  know  if  you  will  allow  me  to  pass." 

And  she  seemed  to  be  actually  afraid  I  would  not  let  her  go. 

"  I  will  open  the  door  myself,  but  let  me  tell  you  I've  taken  a 
tremendous  resolution  ;  and  if  you  care  to  give  light  to  my  soul, 

246 


come  back,  sit  down,  and  listen  to  just  two  words.     But  if  you 
won't,  then  go  away,  and  I  will  open  the  door  to  you  myself  !  " 

She  looked  at  me  and  sat  down  again. 

"  Some  women  would  have  gone  out  with  a  show  of  indigna- 
tion, but  you  sit  down  !  "  I  cried  in  exaltation. 

*'  You  have  never  allowed  yourself  to  talk  like  this  before." 

*'  I  was  always  afraid  before,  I  came  in  now  not  knoAving  what 
I  should  say.  You  imagine  I'm  not  afraid  now  :  I  am.  But  I've 
just  taken  a  tremendous  resolution,  and  I  feel  I  shall  carry  it 
out.  And  as  soon  as  I  took  that  resolution  I  went  out  of  my 
mind  and  began  saying  all  this.  .  .  .  Listen,  this  is  what  I  have 
to  say,  am  I  your  spy  or  not  ?     Answer  me  that  question  !  " 

The  colour  rushed  into  her  face. 

"  Don't  answer  yet,  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  but  listen  to  every 
thing  and  then  tell  the  whole  truth." 

I  had  broken  down  all  barriers  at  once  and  plunged  headlong 
into  space. 


"  Two  months  ago  I  was  standing  here  behind  the  CTU*tain,  .  .  . 
you  know  .  .  .  and  you  talked  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna  about  the 
letter.  I  rushed  out,  and  beside  myself,  I  bliirted  out  the  truth. 
You  saw  at  once  that  I  knew  something  .  .  .  you  could  not 
help  seeing  it  .  .  .  you  were  trying  to  find  an  important  docu- 
ment, and  were  uneasy  about  it.  .  .  Wait  a  bit,  Katerina 
Nikolaevna,  don't  speak  yet.  I  must  tell  you  that  your  sus- 
picion was  well  founded  :  that  document  does  exist  .  .  .  that  is 
to  say  it  did.  ...  I  have  seen  it — ^your  letter  to  Andronikov, 
that's  it,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  You've  seen  that  letter  ?  "  she  asked  quickly,  in  embarrass- 
ment and  agitation.     "  When  did  you  see  it  ?  " 

"  I  saw  it  ...  I  saw  it  at  Kraft's  .  .  .  you  know,  the  man 
that  shot  himself.  .  .  ." 

"  Really  1     You  saw  it  yourself  1     What  became  of  it  ?  " 

"  Kraft  tore  it  up." 

"  In  your  presence,  did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  tore  it  up,  probably  because  he  was  going  to  die,  .  .  . 
I  did  not  know  then,  of  course,  that  he  was  going  to  shoot  him- 
self. .  .  ." 

"  So  it  has  been  destroyed,  thank  God  1  "  she  commented 
slowly  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  she  crossed  herself. 

247 


I  was  not  lying  to  her,  that  is  to  say  I  was  ]ying  because  the 
letter  in  question  was  in  my  hands  and  had  never  been  in  Kraft's, 
but  that  was  a  mere  detail ;  in  what  really  mattered  I  did  not 
lie,  because  at  the  instant  I  told  the  He  I  nerved  myself  to  bum 
the  letter  that  very  evening.  I  swear  that  if  it  had  been  in 
my  pocket  that  moment  I  would  have  taken  it  out  and  given  it 
her  ;  but  I  hadn't  it  with  me,  it  was  at  my  lodging.  Perhaps 
though  I  should  not  have  given  it  her  because  I  should  have  felt 
horribly  ashamed  to  confess  to  her  then  that  I  had  it,  and  had 
been  keeping  it  and  waiting  so  long  before  I  gave  it  back.  It 
made  no  difference,  I  should  have  burnt  it  at  home  in  any  case,  and 
I  was  not  lying !     I  swear  that  at  that  moment  my  heart  was  pure. 

"  And  since  that's  how  it  is,"  I  went  on,  almo^:t  beside  myself, 
"  tell  me,  have  you  been  attracting  me,  have  you  been  welcoming 
me  in  уош:  drawing-room  because  you  suspected  that  I  knew  of 
the  letter  1  Stay,  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  one  minute  more, 
don't  speak,  but  let  me  finish  :  all  the  time  I've  been  coming  to 
see  you,  all  this  time  I've  been  suspecting  that  it  was  only 
because  of  that  that  you  made  much  of  me,  to  get  1  hat  letter  out 
of  me,  to  lead  me  on  to  telling  you  about  it.  .  .  .  Wait  one  more 
minute  :  I  suspected  it,  but  I  suffered.  Your  dupUcity  was  more 
tiian  I  could  bear,  for  I  found  you  a  noble  creature  !  I  tell  you 
plainly  ;  I  was  your  enemy,  but  I  found  you  a  noble  creature  ! 
I  was  utterly  vanquished.  But  yoiu*  duplicity,  that  is  the  sus- 
picion of  your  duplicity,  was  anguish.  .  .  .  Now  everything  must 
be  settled,  everything  must  be  explained,  the  time  has  come  for 
it ;  but  v/ait  yet  a  little  longer,  don't  speak,  let  me  tell  you  how 
I  look  at  it  myself,  just  now  at  this  moment ;  I  tell  you  plainly, 
if  it  has  been  so  I  don't  resent  it  .  .  .  that  is,  I  mean,  I'm  not 
offended,  for  it's  so  natural ;  I  understand,  you  see.  What  is 
there  unnatural  or  wrong  about  it  ?  You  were  worried  about  a 
letter,  you  suspected  that  So-and-so  knew  all  about  it;  well, 
you  might  very  naturally  desire  So-and-so  to  speak  out.  .  .  . 
There's  no  harm  in  that,  none  at  all.  I  am  speaking  sincerely. 
Yet  now  you  must  tell  me  something  .  .  .  you  must  confess 
(forgive  the  word),  I  must  have  the  truth.  I  want  it  for  a  reason  ! 
And  so  tell  me,  why  did  you  make  much  of  me  ?  Was  it  to  get 
that  letter  out  of  me  .  ,  .  Katerina  Nikolaevna?  " 

I  spoke  as  though  I  were  falling  from  a  height,  and  my  forehead 
was  burning.  She  was  listening  to  me  now  without  apprehen- 
sion; on  the  contrary,  her  face  was  full  of  feeling  ;  but  she  looked 
somehow  abashed,  as  though  she  were  ashamed. 

248 


"  Ifc  was  for  that,"  she  said  slowly  and  in  a  low  voice.     "  For- 
give me,  I  did  wrong,"  she  added  suddenly,  with  a  faint  move- 
ment of  her  hands  towards  me.     I  had  never  expected  this, 
had  expected  anything  rather  that  those  two  words — even  from 
her  whom  I  knew  already. 

"  And  you  tell  me  you  did  wrong  !  so  simply :  •  I  did  wrong,'  " 
I  cried. 

"  Oh,  for  a  long  time  I've  been  feeling  that  I  was  not  treating 
you  fairly  .  .  .  and,  indeed,  I'm  glad  to  be  able  to  speak  of 
it.  .  .  ." 

"  For  a  long  time  you've  been  feeling  that  ?  Why  did  you 
not  speak  of  it  before  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  know  how  to  say  it,"  she  smiled  ;  "that  is, 
I  should  have  known  how,"  she  smiled  again,  "  but  I  always 
felt  ashamed  .  .  .  because  at  first  it  really  was  only  on  that 
account  that  I  *  attracted '  you,  as  you  expressed  it ;  but  very 
soon  afterwards  I  felt  disgusted  and  sick  of  all  this  deception, 
I  assure  you  !  "  she  added  with  bitter  feehng  ;  "  and  of  all  this 
troublesome  business  !  " 

"  And  why — why  couldn't  you  have  asked  me  then  straight- 
forwardly ?  You  should  have  said  :  '  you  know  about  the  letter, 
why  do  you  pretend  ?  '  And  I  should  have  told  you  at  once, 
I  should  have  confessed  at  once  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  луаз  ...  a  little  afraid  of  you.  I  must  admit  I  did 
not  trust  you  either.  And  after  all,  if  I  dissembled,  you  did  the 
same,"  she  added  with  a  laugh. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  have  been  contemptible  !  "  I  cried,  overwhelmed. 
"  Oh,  you  don't  know  yet  the  abyss  into  which  I  have  fallen." 

"  An  abyss  already  !  I  recognize  your  style,"  she  smiled 
softly.  "That  letter,"  she  added  mournfully,  "  was  the  saddest 
and  most  indiscreet  thing  I  ever  did.  The  consciousness  of  it 
was  a  continual  reproach.  Moved  by  circumstances  and  appre- 
hension, I  had  doubts  of  my  dear  generous- hearted  father. 
Knowing  that  that  letter  might  fall  .  .  .  into  the  hands  of 
mahcious  people  .  .  .  and  I  had  good  гемопз  for  fearing  this  " 
(she  added  hotly),  "  I  trembled  that  they  might  use  it,  might 
show  my  father  ,  .  .  and  it  might  make  a  tremendous  impres- 
sion on  him  ...  in  his  condition  ...  on  his  health  .  .  .  and 
he  might  be  estranged  from  me.  .  .  .  Yes,"  she  added,  looking 
me  candidly  in  the  face,  and  probably  catching  some  shade 
in  my  expression  ;  "  yes,  and  I  was  afraid  for  my  future  too  ; 
I  was  afraid  that  he  .  .  ,  under  the  influence  of  his  illness  .  ,  . 

249 


might  deprive  me  of  his  favour.  .  .  .  That  feeling  came  in  too  ; 
no  doubt  I  did  him  an  injustice  ;  ho  is  so  kind  and  generous, 
that  no  doubt  he  would  have  forgiven  me.  That's  all.  But  I 
ought  not  to  have  treated  you  as  I  did,"  she  concluded,  again 
seeming  suddenly  abashed.     "  You  have  made  me  feel  ashamed." 

"  No,  you  have  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  I  cried. 

"  I  certainly  did  reckon  ...  on  your  impulsiveness  .  .  .  and 
I  recognize  it,"  she  brought  out,  looking  down. 

"  Katerina  Nikolaevna  1  Who  forces  you  to  make  such 
confessions  to  me,  tell  me  that  ?  "  I  cried,  as  though  I  were  drunk. 
"  Wouldn't  it  have  been  easy  for  you  to  get  up,  and  in  the  most 
exquisite  phrases  to  prove  to  me  subtly  and  as  clearly  as  twice 
two  make  four  that  though  it  was  so,  yet  it  was  nothing  of  the 
sort — you  understand,  as  people  of  your  world  know  how  to  deal 
with  the  truth  ?  I  am  crude  and  foolish,  you  know,  I  should 
have  believed  you  at  once,  I  should  have  believed  anything  from 
you,  whatever  you  said  !  It  would  have  cost  you  nothing  to 
behave  like  that,  of  course  !  You  are  not  really  afraid  of  me, 
you  know  !  How  could  you  be  so  willing  to  humiliate  yourself 
like  this  before  an  impudent  puppy,  a  wretched  raw  youth  ?  " 

"  In  this  anyway  I've  not  humiliated  myself  before  you," 
she  enunciated  with  immense  dignity,  apparently  not  under- 
standing my  exclamation. 

"  No,  indeed,  quite  the  contrary,  that's  just  what  I  am 
saying.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  it  was  so  wrong,  so  thoughtless  of  me  I  "  she  exclaimed, 
putting  her  hand  to  her  face,  as  though  to  hide  it.  "I  felt  ashamed 
yesterday,  that's  why  I  was  not  myself  when  I  was  with  you.  .  .  . 
The  fact  is,"  she  added,"  "  that  circumstances  have  made  it 
absolutely  essential  for  me  at  last  to  find  out  the  truth  about  that 
unlucky  letter,  or  else  I  should  have  begun  to  forget  about  it  .  .  . 
for  I  have  not  let  you  come  to  see  me  simply  on  account  of  that," 
she  added  suddenly. 

There  was  a  tremor  at  my  heart. 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  went  on  with  a  subtle  smile,  "  of  course 
not !  I  .  .  .  You  very  aptly  remarked,  Arkady  Makarovitch, 
that  we  have  often  talked  together  as  one  student  to  another. 
I  assure  you  I  am  sometimes  very  much  bored  in  companj' ; 
I  have  felt  so  particularly  since  my  time  abroad  and  all  these 
family  troubles  ...  I  very  rarely  go  anywhere,  in  fact,  and  not 
simply  from  laziness.  I  often  long  to  go  into  the  country. 
There  I  could  read  over  again  my  favourite  books,  which  I  have 

250 


laid  aside  for  so  long,  and  have  never  been  able  to  bring  myself 
to  read  again.     I  have  spoken  to  you  of  that  already.     Do  you 
remember,  you  laughed  at  my  reading  the  Russian  newspapers 
at  the  rate  of  two  a  day." 
"  I  didn't  laugh.  ..." 

"  Of  course  not,  for  you,  too,  were  excited  over  them,  and  I 
confessed,  too,  long  ago,  that  I  am  Russian,  and  love  Russia. 
You  remember  we  always  read  '  facts  *  as  you  called  them  " 
(she  smiled).  "  Though  you  are  at  times  somewhat  .  .  .  strange, 
yet  sometimes  you  grew  so  eager  and  would  say  such  good  things, 
and  you  were  interested  Justin  what  I  was  interested  in.  When 
you  are  a  '  student  *  you  are  charming  and  original.  Nothing  else 
suits  you  so  well,"  she  added,  with  a  Sly  and  charming  smile. 
*'  Do  you  remember  we  sometimes  talked  for  hours  about  nothing 
but  figures,  reckoned  and  compared,  and  took  trouble  to  find 
out  how  many  schools  there  are  in  Russia,  and  in  what  direction 
progress  is  being  made  ?  We  reckoned  up  the  murders  and 
serious  crimes  and  set  them  off  against  the  cheering  items.  .  .  . 
We  wanted  to  find  out  in  what  direction  we  were  moving,  and 
what  would  happen  to  us  in  the  end.  In  you  I  found  sincerity. 
In  our  world  men  never  talk  like  that  to  us,  to  women.  Last 
week  I  was  talking  to  Prince  X.  about  Bismarck,  for  I  was  very 
much  interested,  and  could  not  make  up  my  mind  about  him, 
and  only  fancy,  he  sat  dowTi  beside  me  and  began  telling  me 
about  him  very  fully,  indeed,  but  always  with  a  sort  of  irony, 
and  that  patronizing  condescension  which  I  always  find  so 
insufferable,  and  which  is  so  common  in  '  great  men  '  when  they 
talk  to  us  women  if  we  meddle  with  '  subjects  beyond  our 
sphere.*  .  .  .  Do  you  remember  that  we  almost  had  a  quarrel, 
you  and  I,  over  Bismarck  ?  You  showed  me  that  you  had  ideas 
of  your  own  *  far  more  definite  '  than  Bismarck's,"  she  laughed 
suddenly.  "  I  have  only  met  two  people  in  my  whole  life  who 
talked  to  me  quite  seriously  ;  my  husband,  a  very,  very  intelli- 
gent and  hon-our-able  man,"  she  pronounced  the  words 
impressively,  "  and  you  know  whom.  .  .  ." 

"  Versilov  ! "  I  cried ;  I  hung  breathless  on  every  word  she 
uttered. 

"  Yes,  I  was  very  fond  of  listening  to  him,  I  became  at  last 
absolutely  open  .  .  .  perhaps  too  open  with  him,  but  even  then 
Le  did  not  believe  in  me  !  " 

"  Did  not  believe  in  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no  one  has  ever  believed  in  me." 

251 


"  But  Verailov,  Versilov  !  " 

"  He  did  not  simply  disbelieve  in  me,"  she  pronounced,  drop- 
ping her  eyes,  and  smiling  strangely,  "  but  considered  that  I 
had  all  the  vices.  " 

"  Of  which  you  have  not  one  1  ** 

"  No,  even  I  have  some." 

"  Versilov  did  not  love  you,  so  he  did  not  understand  you," 
I  cried  with  flashing  eyee. 

Her  face  twitched. 

"  Say  no  more  of  that  and  never  speak  to  me  of  ...  of  that 
man,"  she  added  hotly,  with  vehement  emphasis.  "  But  that's 
enough  :  I  must  be  going" — she  got  up  to  go.  "  Well,  do  you 
forgive  me  or  not  ?  "   she  added,  looking  at  me  brightly. 

"  Me  .  .  .  forgive  you.  .  .  .  Listen,  Katerina  Nikolaevna, 
and  don't  be  angry  ;  is  it  true  that  you  are  going  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  That's  not  settled,"  she  said  in  confusion,  seeming  frightened 
of  something. 

"  Is  he  a  good  man  ?     Forgive  me,  forgive  me  that  question  1  " 

"  Yes,  very." 

"  Don't  answer  further,  don't  vouchsafe  me  an  answer  !  I 
know  that  such  questions  from  me  are  impossible  !  I  only  wanted 
to  know  whether  he  is  worthy  of  you  or  not,  but  I  will  find  out 
for  myself." 

"  Ah,  listen  1  "   she  said  in  dismay. 

"  No,  I  won't,  I  won't.  I'll  step  aside.  .  .  .  Only  this  one  thing 
I  want  to  say  :  God  grant  you  every  happiness  according  to 
your  choice  .  .  .  for  having  given  me  so  much  happiness  in 
this  one  hour  !  Your  image  is  imprinted  on  my  heart  for  ever 
now.  I  have  gained  a  treasure  :  the  thought  of  your  perfection. 
I  expected  duplicity  and  coarse  coquetry  and  was  wretched  .  .  . 
because  I  could  not  connect  that  idea  with  you.  I've  been  think- 
ing day  and  night  lately,  and  suddenly  everything  has  become 
clear  as  daylight  !  As  I  was  coming  here  I  thought  I  should 
bear  away  an  image  of  Jesuitical  cunning,  of  deception,  of  an 
inquisitorial  serpent,  and  I  found  honour,  magnificence,  a  student. 
You  laugh.  Laugh  away  !  You  are  holy,  you  know,  you  cannot 
laugh  at  what  is  sacred.  ..." 

"  Oh  no,  I'm  only  laughing  because  you  use  such  wonderful 
expressions.  .  .  .  But  what  is  an  '  inquisitorial  serpent '  ?  "  she 
laughed. 

"  You  let  slip  to-day  a  priceless  sentence,"  I  went  on  ecstati- 
cally.    "  How  could  you  to  my  fa<;e  utter  the  words  :  '  I  reckoned 

252 


on  your  impulsiveness  '  ?  Well,  granted  you  are  a  saint,  and 
confess  even  that,  because  you  imagined  yourself  guilty  in  some 
way  and  want  to  punish  yourself  .  .  .  though  there  was  no  fault 
of  any  sort,  for,  if  there  had  been,  from  you  everything  is  holy  ! 
But  yet  you  need  not  have  uttered  just  that  word,  that  ex- 
pression !  .  .  .  Such  unnatural  candour  only  shows  your  lofty 
purity,  your  respect  for  me,  3'our  faith  in  me  !  "  I  cried  incoherently. 
"  Oh,  do  not  blush,  do  not  blush  !  .  .  .  And  how,  how  could 
anyone  slander  you,  and  say  that  you  are  a  woman  of  violent 
passions  ?  Oh,  forgive  me  :  I  see  a  look  of  anguish  on  3'our 
face  ;  forgive  a  frenzied  boy.  his  clumsy  words  I  Besides,  do 
words  matter  now  ?  Are  you  not  above  all  words  ?  .  ,  . 
Versilov  said  once  that  Othello  did  not  kill  Desdemona  and 
afterwards  himself  because  he  was  jealous,  but  because  he  had 
been  robbed  of  his  ideal.  ...  I  understand  that,  because  to-day 
my  ideal  has  been  restored  to  me  !  " 

"  You  praise  me  too  much  :  I  don't  deserve  this,"  she  pro- 
nounced with  feeling.  "  Do  j'ou  remember  what  I  told  you 
about  your  eyes  ?  "   she  added  playfully. 

"  That  I  have  microscopes  for  eyes,  and  that  I  exaggerate 
every  fly  into  a  camel !  No,  this  time  it's  not  a  camel.  .  .  . 
What,  you  are  going  ?  " 

She  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  her  muff  and 
her  shawl  in  her  hands. 

"  No,  I  shall  wait  till  you're  gone,  and  then  I  shall  go  after- 
wards.    I  must  write  a  couple  of  words  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna." 

"  I'm  going  directly,  directly,  but  once  more  :  may  j^u  be 
happy  alone,  or  with  the  man  of  your  choice,  and  God  bless  you  ! 
All  that  I  need  is  my  ideal !  " 

"  Dear,  good  Arkady  Makarovitch,  believe  me  I  .  .  .  My 
father  always  says  of  3  ou  '  the  dear,  good  boy  ! '  Believe  me 
I  shall  always  remember  what  you  have  told  me  of  your  lonely 
childhood,  abandoned  amongst  strangers,  and  з'оиг  solitary 
dreams.  ...  I  imderstand  only  too  well  how  your  mind  has 
been  formed  .  .  .  but  now  though  we  are  students,"  she  added, 
with  a  deprecating  and  shamefaced  smile,  pressing  my  hand, 
"  wo  can't  go  on  seeing  each  other  as  before  and,  and  ...  no 
doubt  you  will  understand  that  ?  " 
We  cannot  ?  " 

"  No,  we  carmot,  for  a  long  time,  we  cannot  .  .  .  it's  тпу  fault. 
...  I  see  now  that  it's  quite  out  of  the  question.  >  .  .  We 
shall  meet  sometimes  at  my  father's." 

253 


"  You  are  afraid  of  my  '  impulsiveness,'  my  feelings,  you 
don't  believe  in  me  !  "  I  would  have  exclaimed,  but  she  was  so 
overcome  with  shame  tbat  my  words  refused  to  be  uttered. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  stopping  me  all  at  once  in  the  doorway, 
"  did  you  see  yourself  that  .  .  .  that  letter  was  torn  up  ?  You 
are  sure  you  remember  it  ?  How  did  you  know  at  the  time  that 
it  was  the  letter  to  Andronikov  ?  " 

"  Kraft  told  me  what  was  in  it,  and  even  showed  it  to  me.  .  .  . 
Good-bye!  When  I  am  with  you  in  your  study  I  am  shy  of 
you,  but  when  you  go  away  I  am  ready  to  fall  down  and  kiss 
the  spot  Avhere  your  foot  has  touched  the  floor.  ..."  I  brought 
out  all  at  once,  unconsciously,  not  knowing  how  or  why  I 
said  it.  And  without  looking  at  her  I  went  quickly  out  of  the 
room. 

I  set  off  for  home  ;  there  wa«  rapture  in  my  soul.  My  brain 
was  in  a  whirl,  my  heart  was  full.  As  I  drew  near  my  mother's 
house  I  recalled  Liza's  ingratitude  to  Anna  Andrcyevna,  her  cruel 
and  monstrous  saying  that  morning,  and  my  heart  suddenly 
ached  for  them  all ! 

"  How  hard  their  hearts  are  !  And  Liza  too,  what's  the  matter 
with  her  ?  "   I  thought  as  I  stood  on  the  steps. 

I  dismissed  Matvey  and  told  him  to  come  to  my  lodging  for  me 
at  nine  o'clock. 


CHAPTER  V 


I  WAS  late  for  dinner,  but  they  had  not  yet  sat  down  to  table, 
they  had  waited  for  me.  Perhaps  because  I  did  not  often  dine 
with  them,  some  special  additions  to  the  menu  had  been  made 
on  my  account :  with  the  savouries  there  were  sardines  and 
so  on.  But  to  my  surprise  and  regret,  I  found  them  all  rather 
worried  and  out  of  humour.  Liza  scarcely  smiled  when  she 
saw  me,  and  mother  was  obviously  uneasy  ;  Versilov  gave  me 
a  smile,  but  it  was  a  forced  one.  "  Have  they  been  quarrelling  ?  " 
I  wondered.  Everything  went  well  at  first,  however ;  Versilov 
only  frowned  over  the  soup  with  dumplings  in  it,  and  made 
wry  faces  when  he  was  handed  the  beef  olives. 

254 


"  I  have  only  to  mention  that  a  particular  dish  does  not  suit 
me,  for  it  to  reappear  next  day,"  he  pronounced  in  vexation. 

"  But  how's  one  to  invent  things,  Audrey  Petrovitch  ?  There's 
no  inventing  a  new  dish  of  any  sort,"  my  mother  answered 
timidly. 

"  Your  mother  is  the  exact  opposite  of  some  of  our  news- 
papers, to  whom  whatever  is  new  is  good,"  Versilov  tried  to 
make  a  joke  in  a  more  playful  and  amiable  voice  ;  but  it 
somehow  fell  flat,  and  only  added  to  the  discomfiture  of  my 
mother,  who  of  course  could  make  nothing  of  the  comparison 
of  herself  with  the  newspapers,  and  looked  about  her  in  per- 
plexity. At  that  moment  Tatyana  Pavlovna  came  in,  and 
announcing  that  she  had  already  dined,  sat  down  near  mother, 
on  the  sofa. 

I  had  not  yet  succeeded  In  gaining  the  good  graces  of  that 
lady,  quite  the  contrary  in  fact ;  she  used  to  fall  foul  of  me 
more  than  ever,  for  everything,  and  about  everything.  Her 
displeasure  had  of  late  become  more  accentuated  than  ever  ; 
she  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  my  foppish  clothes,  and  Liza 
told  me  that  she  almost  had  a  fit  when  she  heard  that  I  kept  a 
coachman  and  a  smart  turn-out.  I  ended  by  avoiding  meeting 
her  as  far  as  possible.  Two  months  before,  when  the  disputed 
inheritance  was  given  up  to  Prince  Sergay,  I  had  run  to  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  meaning  to  talk  over  Versilov's  conduct  with  her, 
but  I  met  with  no  trace  of  sympathy  ;  on  the  contrary  she  was 
dreadfully  angry  :  she  was  particularly  vexed  that  the  whole 
had  been  given  back,  instead  of  half  the  fortune  ;  she  observed 
sharply  : 

"  I'll  bet  you  are  persuaded  that  he  has  given  up  the  money 
and  challenged  the  prince  to  a  duel,  solely  to  regain  the  good 
opinion  of  Arkady  Makarovitch." 

And  indeed  she  was  almost  right.  I  was  in  reality  feeling 
something  of  the  sort  at  the  time. 

As  soon  as  she  came  in  I  saw  at  once  that  she  would  in- 
fallibly attack  me.  I  was  even  inclined  to  believe  that  she 
had  come  in  expressly  with  that  object,  and  so  I  immediately 
became  exceptionally  free-and-easy  in  my  manner  ;  this  was  no 
effort  to  me,  for  what  had  just  happened  had  left  me  still  radiant 
and  joyful.  I  may  mention  once  and  for  all  that  a  free-and- 
easy  manner  never  has  been  right  for  me,  that  is  to  say,  it  never 
suits  me,  but  always  covers  me  with  disgrace.  So  it  happened 
now.    I  instantly  said  the  vrrong  thing,  with  no  evil  intent,  but 

255 


simply  from  thoughtlessness ;  noticing  that  Liza  was  horribly 
depressed,  I  suddenly  blurted  out,  without  thinking  of  what  I 
was  sa3'ing  : 

"  I  haven't  dined  here  for  such  ages,  and  now  I  have  come, 
see  how  bored  you  are,  Liza  !  " 

"  My  head  aches,"  answ^ered  Liza. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  said  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  instantly  catch- 
ing at  it.  "  What  if  you  are  ill  ?  Arkady  Makarovitch  has 
deigned  to  come  to  dinner,  you  must  dance  and  be  merry." 

"  You  really  are  the  worry  of  my  life,  Tatyana  Pavlovna. 
I  will  never  come  again  when  you  are  here  !  "  and  I  brought 
my  hand  down  on  the  table  with  genuine  vexation ;  mother 
started,  and  Versilov  looked  at  me  strangely.  I  laughed  at 
once  and  begged  their  pardon. 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  I  take  back  the  word '  worry,'  "  I  said, 
turning  to  her,  with  the  same  free-and-easy  tone. 

"  No,  no,"  she  snapped  out,  "  it's  much  more  flattering  to 
be  a  worry  to  you  than  to  be  the  opposite,  you  may  be  sure  of 
that." 

"  My  dear  boy,  one  must  learn  to  put  up  with  the  small  worries 
of  life,"  Versilov  murmured  with  a  smile,  "  life  is  not  worth 
Uving  without  them." 

"  Do  you  know,  you  are  sometimes  a  fearful  reactionary,"  I 
cried,  laughing  nervously. 

"  My  dear  boy,  it  doesn't  matter." 

"  Yes,  it  does  !  Why  not  tell  the  blunt  truth  to  an  ass,  if  he 
is  an  ass  ?  " 

"  Surely  you  are  not  speaking  of  yourself  ?  To  begin  with, 
I  can't  judge  anj'^one,  and  I  don't  want  to." 

"  Why  don't  you  want  to,  why  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Laziness  and  distaste.  A  clever  woman  told  me  once  that  I 
had  no  right  to  judge  others  because  '  I  don't  know  how  to  sufier,' 
that  before  judging  others,  one  must  gain  the  right  to  judge, 
from  suffering.  Rather  exalted,  but,  as  applied  to  me,  perhaps 
it's  true,  so  that  I  very  readily  accepted  the  criticism." 

"  Wasn't  it  Tatyana  Pavlovna  who  told  you  that  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  ?  "  said  Versilov,  glancing  at  me  with 
some  surprise. 

"  I  knew  it  from  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  face  :  she  gave  a  sudden 
start." 

I  guessed  by  chance.  The  phrase,  as  it  appeared  later,  actually 
had  been  uttered  by  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  the  evening  before,  in 

256 


a  heated  discussion.  And  indeed,  I  repeat,  I  had,  brimming  over 
with  joy  and  expansiveness,  swooped  down  upon  them  at  an 
unfortunate  moment ;  all  of  them  had  their  separate  troubles, 
and  they  were  heavy  ones. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  I  went  on,  "  because  it's  all  so 
abstract ;  it's  dreadful  how  fond  you  are  of  abstract  discussion, 
Andrey  Petrovitch  ;  it's  a  sign  of  egoism  ;  only  egoists  are  fond 
of  generalization." 

"  That's  not  a  bad  saying,  but  don't  persecute  me." 

■'  But  let  me  ask,"  I  insisted  expansively,  "  what's  the  mean- 
ing of  *  gaining  the  right  to  judge  ?  '  Anyone  who  is  honest 
may  be  a  judge,  that's  my  idea." 

"  You  won't  find  many  judges  in  that  case.** 

*'  I  know  one  anyway." 

"  Who's  that  ?  " 

"  He  is  sitting  and  talking  to  me  now." 

Versilov  laughed  strangely,  he  stooped  down  to  my  ear,  and 
taking  me  by  the  shoulder  whispered,  "  He  is  always  lying  to 
you." 

I  don't  know  to  this  day  what  was  in  his  mind,  but  evidently 
he  was  in  some  agitation  at  the  time  (in  consequence  of  something 
he  had  learned,  as  I  found  out  later).  But  those  words,  "  he  is 
always  lying  to  you,"  were  so  unexpected  and  uttered  so 
earnestly,  and  with  such  a  strange  and  far  from  playful  ex- 
pression, that  it  gave  me  a  nervous  shudder.  I  was  almost 
alarmed  and  looked  at  him  wildly ;  but  Versilov  made  haste  to 
laugh. 

"  Well,  thank  God  ! "  murmured  my  mother,  who  was  uneasy 
at  seeing  him  whisper  to  me,  "  I  was  almost  thinking.  .  .  . 
Don't  be  angry  with  us,  Arkasha  ;  you'll  have  clever  friends 
apart  from  us,  but  who  is  going  to  love  you,  if  we  don't  love  one 
another  ? " 

"  The  love  of  one's  relations  is  immoral,  mother,  just  because 
it's  undeserved  ;  love  ought  to  be  earned." 

"  You'll  earn  it  later  on,  but  here  you  are  loved  without." 

Every  one  suddenly  laughed. 

"  Well,  mother,  you  may  not  have  meant  to  shoot,  but  you 
hit  your  bird  !  "  I  cried,  laughing,  too. 

"  And  you  actually  imagined  that  there's  something  to  love 
you  for,"   cried  Tatyana   Pavlovna,   falling  upon   me  again  : 
"  You  are  not  simply  loved  for  nothing,  you  are  loved  in  spite  of 
loathing." 

257  ■ 


"  Oh  not  a  bit  of  it,"  I  cried  gaily ;  "do  you  know,  perhaps, 
some  one  told  me  to-day  I  was  loved." 

"  Said  it  laughing  at  you  !  "  Tatyana  Pavlovna  said  suddenly 
with  a  sort  of  unnatural  malignity,  as  though  she  had  just  been 
waiting  for  me  to  say  that,  "  yes,  a  person  of  deUcacy,  especially 
a  woman,  would  be  moved  to  disgust  by  the  uncleanness  of 
your  soul.  Your  hair  is  done  with  a  smart  parting,  you  have 
fine  linen,  and  a  suit  made  by  a  French  tailor,  but  it's  all  un- 
cleanness really  !  Who's  paid  your  tailor's  bill,  who  keeps  you, 
and  gives  you  money  to  play  roixlette  with  ?  Think  who  it  is 
you've  been  so  shameless  as  to  sponge  on  !  " 

My  mother  flushed  painfully,  and  I  had  never  seen  a  look  of 
such  shame  on  her  face  before.  Everything  seemed  to  be  giving 
way  within  me. 

"  If  I  am  spending  money  it's  my  own,  and  I  am  not  bound 
to  give  an  account  of  it  to  anyone,"  I  blurted  out,  turning 
crimson. 

"  Whose  own  ?     What  money's  your  own  ?  " 
"  If  it's  not  mine,  it's  Audrey  Petrovitch's.     He  won't  refvise 
it  me.  ...  I  borrowed  from  what  Prince  Sergay  owes  Andrey 
Petrovitch.  .  .  ." 

**  My  dear  boy,"  Versilov  said  firmly,  all  of  a  sudden,  "  not  a 
farthing  of  that  money  is  mine." 

The  phrase  was  horribly  significant.  I  was  dumbfoundered. 
Oh,  of  course,  considering  my  paradoxical  and  careless  attitude 
at  that  time,  I  might  quite  well  have  turned  it  off  with  some 
outburst  of  "  generous "  feeling,  or  high-sounding  phrase,  or 
something,  but  I  suddenly  caught  on  Liza's  face  a  resentful 
accusing  expression,  an  expression  I  had  not  deserved,  almost 
a  sneer,  and  a  devH  seemed  to  prompt  me. 

*'  You  seem,"  I  said,  turning  to  her  suddenly,  "  to  visit  Darya 
Onisimovna  very  often  at  Prince  Sergay's  flat,  miss,  so  will  you 
be  pleased  to  give  her  this  three  hundred  roubles,  which  you've 
given  me  such  a  nagging  about  already  to-day  ?  " 

I  took  out  the  money  and  held  it  out  to  her.  But  will  it  be 
believed  that  those  mean  words  were  uttered  entirely  without 
motive,  that  is,  without  the  faintest  allusion  to  anything.  And 
indeed  there  could  have  been  no  such  allusion,  for  at  that  moment 
I  knew  absolutely  nothing.  Perhaps  I  had  just  a  desire  to  vex 
her  by  something  comparatively  most  innocent,  by  way  of  a 
gibe,  "  Since  you  are  such  an  interfering  young  lady,  wouldn't 
you  Ике  to  retium  the  money  yourself  to  the  prince,  a  charming 

258 


young  man  and  a  Petersburg  officer,  as  you  are  so  anxious  to 
meddle  in  young  men's  business."  But  what  was  my  amazement 
when  my  mother  got  up,  and,  with  a  menacing  gesture,  cried  : 

"  How  dare  you  !     How  dare  you  !  " 

I  could  never  have  conceived  of  anything  like  it  from  her, 
and  I  too  jumped  up  from  my  seat,  not  exactly  in  alarm,  but 
with  a  sort  of  anguish,  a  poignant  wound  in  my  heart,  suddenly 
realizing  that  something  dreadful  had  happened.  But  unable 
to  control  herself,  mother  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  ran  out 
of  the  room.  Liza  followed  her  out  without  so  much  as  a  glance 
at  me.  Tatyana  Pavlovna  gazed  at  me  for  half  a  minute  in 
silence. 

"  Can  you  really  have  meant  to  jeer  ?  "  she  exclaimed  enig- 
matically, looking  at  me  in  profound  astonishment,  but  without 
waiting  for  me  to  answer,  she,  too,  ran  out  to  join  them.  With 
an  unsympathetic,  almost  angry  expression,  Versilov  got  up 
from  the  table,  and  took  his  hat  from  the  corner. 

"  I  imagine  that  you  are  not  so  much  a  fool  as  an  innocent," 
he  mumbled  to  me  ironically,  "  If  they  come  backj  tell  them 
to  have  their  pudding  without  waiting  for  me.  I  am  going  out 
for  a  little." 

I  remained  alone  ;  at  first  I  felt  bewildered,  then  I  felt 
resentful,  but  afterwards  I  saw  clearly  that  I  was  to  blame. 
However,  I  did  not  know  exactly  how  I  was  to  blame,  1  simply 
had  a  feeling  of  it.  I  sat  in  the  window  and  waited.  After 
waiting  ten  minutes,  I,  too,  took  my  hat,  and  went  upstairs  to 
the  attic,  which  had  been  mine.  I  knew  that  they,  that  is  my 
mother  and  Liza,  were  there,  and  that  Tatyana  Pavlovna  had 
gone  away.  And  so  I  found  them  on  my  sofa,  whispering 
together  about  something.  They  left  ofE  whispering  at  once, 
when  I  appeared ;  to  my  amazement  they  were  not  angry  with 
me  ;  mother  anyway  smiled  at  me. 

"  I  am  sorry,  mother,"  I  began. 

"  Never  mind  !  "  mother  cut  me  short,  "  only  love  each  other 
and  never  quarrel  and  Grod  will  send  you  happiness." 

"  He  is  never  nasty  to  me,  mother,  I  assure  you,"  Liza  said 
with  conviction  and  feeling. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  Tatyana  Pavlovna  nothing  would 
have  happened,"  I  cried  ;    "  she's  horrid  !  " 

"  You  see,  mother  ?  You  hear  ?  "  said  Liza  with  a  motion 
towards  me. 

"  What  I  want  to  tell  you  both  is  this,"  I  declared  :    "  if 

259 


there  is  anything  nasty  in  the  world,  it's  I  that  am  nasty,  and 
all  the  rest  is  delightful  !  " 

"  Arkasha,  don't  be  angry,  darling,  but  if  you  really  would 
give  up  .  .  ." 

"  Gambling,  you  mean,  gambling  ?  I  will  give  it  up,  mother. 
I  am  going  there  for  the  last  time  to-day — especially  since  Andrey 
Petrovitch  himself  has  declared  that  not  a  farthing  of  that 
money  is  his,  you  can't  imagine  how  I  blush.  ...  I  must  go 
into  it  with  him,  though  .  .  .  Mother  darling,  last  time  I  was 
here  I  said  something  clumsy  ...  it  was  nonsense,  darling; 
I  truly  want  to  beUeve,  it  was  only  swagger,  I  love  Christ.  .  .  ." 

On  my  last  visit  there  had  been  a  conversation  about  religion. 
Mother  had  been  much  grieved  and  upset.  When  she  heard 
my  words  now,  she  smiled  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  little  child. 

"  Christ  forgives  everything,  Arkasha ;  he  forgives  your  wrong- 
doing and  worse  than  yours.  Christ  is  our  Father,  Christ  never 
fails  us,  and  will  give  light  in  the  blackest  night.  ..." 

I  said  good-bye  to  them,  and  went  away,  thinking  over  the 
chances  of  seeing  Versilov  that  day  ;  I  had  a  great  deal  to  talk 
over  with  him,  and  it  had  been  impossible  that  afternoon.  I 
had  a  strong  suspicion  that  he  would  be  waiting  for  me  at  my 
lodging,  I  walked  there  on  foot ;  it  had  turned  colder  and 
begun  to  freeze  and  walking  was  very  pleasant. 


I  lived  near  the  Voznesenky  Bridge,  in  a  huge  block  of  flats 
overlooking  the  courtyard.  Almost  as  I  went  into  the  gate  I 
ran  into  Versilov  coming  out. 

"  As  usual  when  I  go  for  a  walk,  I  only  get  as  far  as  your 
lodging,  and  I've  been  to  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch's,  but  I  got  tired  of 
waiting  for  you ;  your  people  there  are  for  ever  quarrelling,  and 
to-day  his  wife  is  even  a  little  tearful;  I  looked  in  and  came 
away." 

For  some  reason  I  felt  annoyed. 

"  I  suppose  you  never  go  to  see  anyone  except  me  and  Pyotr 
Ippolitovitch ;  you  have  no  one  else  in  all  Petersburg  to  go  to." 

"  My  dear  fellow  .  .  .  but  it  doesn't  matter." 

*  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  " 

*  I  am  not  coming  back  to  you.  If  you  Ике  we'll  go  for  a 
walk,  it's  a  glorious  evening." 

260 


"  If  instead  of  abstract  discussions,  you  had  talked  to  me  like 
a  human  being,  and  had  for  instance  given  me  the  merest  hini 
about  that  confounded  gambling,  I  should  perhaps  not  have 
let  myself  be  drawn  into  it  like  a  fool,"  I  said  suddenly. 

"  You  regret  it  ?    That's  a  good  thing,"  he  answered,  bringing 
out  his  words  reluctantly  ;     "I  always  suspected  that  play  was 
not  a  matter  of  great  consequence  with  you,  but  only  a  tern 
porary  aberration.  .  .  .  You  are  right,  my  dear  boy,  gambling 
is  beastly,  and  what's  more  one  may  lose." 

"  And  lose  other  people's  money,  too." 

"  Have  you  lost  other  people's  money  ?  " 

"  I  have  lost  yours.  I  borrowed  of  Prince  Sergey,  from  what 
was  owing  you.  Of  ccirse  it  was  fearfully  stupid  and  absurd 
of  me  ...  to  consider  your  money  mine,  but  I  always  meant  to 
win  it  back." 

"  I  must  warn  you  once  more,  my  dear  boy,  that  I  have  no 
money  in  Prince  Sergay's  hands.  I  know  that  young  man  is 
in  straits  himself,  and  I  am  not  reckoning  on  him  for  anything, 
in  spite  of  his  promises." 

"  That  makes  my  position  twice  as  bad.  ...  I  am  in  a 
ludicrous  position  !  And  what  grounds  has  he  for  lending  me 
money,  and  me  for  borrowing  in  that  case  ?  " 

"  That's  your  affair.  .  .  .  But  there's  not  the  slightest 
reason  for  you  to  borrow  money  from  him,  is  there  ?  " 

"  Except  that  we  are  comrades.  ..." 

"  No  other  reason  ?  Is  there  anything  which  has  made  you 
feel  it  possible  to  borrow  from  him  ?  Any  consideration 
whatever  ?  " 

"  What  sort  of  consideration  do  you  mean  ?  I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"  So  much  the  better  if  you  don't,  and  I  will  own,  my  boy, 
that  I  was  sure  of  it.  Brisons-la,  топ  cher,  and  do  try  to  avoid 
playing  somehow." 

"  If  only  you  had  told  me  before  !  You  seem  half-hearted 
about  it  even  now." 

"  If  I  had  spoken  to  you  about  it  before,  we  should  only  have 
quarrelled,  and  you  wouldn't  have  let  me  come  and  see  you  in 
the  evenings  so  readily.  And  let  me  tell  you,  my  dear,  that 
all  such  saving  counsels  and  warnings  are  simply  an  intrusion 
into  another  person's  conscience,  at  another  person's  expense. 
I  have  done  enough  meddling  with  the  consciences  of  others, 
and  in  the  long  run  I  get  nothing  but  taunts  and  rebuffs  for  it. 

261 


Taunts  and  rebuffs,  of  course,  don't  matter ;  the  point  is  that  one 
never  obtains  one's  object  in  that  way  :  no  one  listens  to  you, 
however  much  you  meddle  .  .  .  and  every  one  gets  to  dislike 
you." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  begun  to  talk  to  me  of  something 
besides  abstractions.  I  want  to  ask  you  one  thing,  I  have 
wanted  to  for  a  long  time,  but  it's  always  been  impossible  when 
I've  been  with  you.  It  is  a  good  thing  we  are  in  the  street. 
Do  you  remember  that  evening,  the  last  evening  I  spent  in  your 
house,  two  months  ago,  how  we  sat  upstairs  in  my  '  coffin,'  and 
I  questioned  you  about  mother  and  Makar  Ivanovitch ;  do  you 
remember  how  free  and  eeisy  I  was  with  you  then  ?  How  could 
you  allow  a  young  puppy  to  speak  in  those  terms  of  his  mother  ? 
And  yet  you  made  not  the  faintest  sign  of  protest ;  on  the 
contrary,  'you  let  yourself  go,'  and  so  made  me  worse  than 
ever." 

"  My  dear  boy,  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  .  .  .  such  sentiments, 
from  you.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  remember  very  well ;  I  was  actually 
waiting  to  see  the  blush  on  your  cheek,  and  if  I  fell  in  with  your 
tone,  it  was  just  to  bring  you  to  the  limit.  .  .  ." 

"  And  you  only  deceived  me  then,  and  troubled  more  than 
ever  the  springs  of  piu-ity  in  my  soul !  Yes,  I'm  a  wretched 
raw  youth,  and  I  don't  know  from  minute  to  minute  what  is 
good  and  what  is  evil.  Had  you  given  me  the  tiniest  hint  of 
the  right  road,  I  should  have  realized  things  and  should  have  been 
eager  to  take  the  right  path.     But  you  only  drove  me  to  fury." 

"  Cher  enfant,  I  always  foresaw  that,  one  way  or  another,  we 
should  understand  one  another  ;  that  '  blush  '  has  made  its 
appearance  of  itself,  without  my  aid,  and  that  I  swear  is  better 
for  you.  ...  I  notice,  my  dear  boy,  that  j^u  have  gained  a 
great  deal  of  late  .  .  .  can  it  be  the  companionship  of  that 
princeling  ?  " 

"  Don't  praise  me,  I  don't  like  it.  Don't  leave  me  with  a 
painful  suspicion  that  you  are  flattering  me  without  regard  for 
truth,  so  as  to  go  on  pleasing  me.  Well,  lately  .  .  ,  you  see 
.  .  .  I've  been  visiting  ladies.  I  am  very  well  received,  you 
know,  by  Anna  Andreyevna,  for  instance." 

"  I  know  that  from  her,  my  dear  boy.  Yes,  she  is  very  charm- 
ing and  intelligent.  Mais  brisons-la,  топ  cher.  It's  odd  how 
sick  I  feel  of  everything  to-day,  spleen  I  suppose.  I  put  it  down 
to  hsBmorrhoids.  How  are  things  at  home  ?  All  right  1  You 
made  it  up,  of  course,  and  embraces  followed  ?     Celd  va  sans 

262 


dire.  It's  melancholy  sometimes  to  go  back  to  them,  even  after 
the  nastiest  walk.  In  fact,  I  sometimes  go  a  longer  way  roiind 
in  the  rain,  simply  to  delay  the  moment  of  returning  to  the 
bosom  of  my  family.  .  .  .  And  how  bored  I  am  there,  good  God, 
how  bored  !  " 

"Mother  .  .  ." 

"Your  mother  is  a  most  perfect  and  deUghtful  creature, 
mats.  ...  In  short  I  am  probably  unworthy  of  them.  B}^  the 
way,  what's  the  matter  with  them  to-day  ?  For  the  last  few 
days  they've  all  been  out  of  sorts  somehow.  ...  I  always  try 
to  ignore  such  things  you  know,  but  there  is  something  fresh 
brewing  to-day.  .  .  .  Have  you  noticed  nothing  ?  " 

"I  know  nothing  positive,  and  in  fact  I  should  not  have 
noticed  it  at  all  it  if  hadn't  been  for  that  confounded  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  who  can  never  resist  trying  to  get  her  knife  in.  You 
are  right ;  there  is  something  wrong.  I  found  Liza  at  Anna 
Andreyevna's  this  morning,  and  she  was  so  .  .  .  she  surprised 
me  in  fact.  You  know,  of  course,  that  she  visits  Anna 
Andreyevna  ?  " 

"  I  know,  my  dear.  And  you  .  .  .  when  were  you  at  Anna 
Andrej'evna's,  to-day  ?  At  what  time  ?  I  want  to  know  for  a 
reason." 

"  From  two  till  three.  And  only  fancy  as  I  was  going  out 
Prince  Sergay  arrived.  ..." 

Then  I  described  my  whole  visit  very  circumstantially.  He 
Ustened  without  speaking  ;  he  made  no  comment  whatever  on 
the  possibility  of  a  match  between  Prince  Sergay  and  Anna 
Andreyevna  ;  in  response  to  my  enthusiastic  praise  of  Anna 
Andreyevna  he  murmured  again  that  "  she  was  very  charming." 

"  I  gave  her  a  great  surprise  this  morning,  with  the  latest 
bit  of  drawing-room  gossip  that  Mme.  Ahmakov  is  to  be  married 
to  Baron  Biiring,"  I  said  all  of  a  sudden,  as  though  something 
were  torn  out  of  me. 

"  Yes  ?  Would  you  believe  it,  she  told  me  that  '  news ' 
earlier  in  the  day,  much  earlier  than  you  can  have  surprised  her 
with  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  was  simply  struck  dumb.  "  From 
whom  could  she  have  heard  it  ?  Though  after  all,  there's  no 
need  to  ask ;  of  course  she  might  have  heard  it  before  I  did  ; 
but  only  imagine,  she  listened  to  me  when  I  told  her  as  though 
it  were  absolutely  news  to  her  !  But  .  .  .  but  what  of  it  ? 
Hurrah  for  '  breadth  1 '     One  must  take  a  broad  view^of  people's 

263 


characters,  mustn't  one  ?  1,  for  instance,  should  have  poured 
it  all  out  at  once,  and  she  shuts  it  up  in  a  en u ft  box  .  .  .  and 
so  be  it,  so  be  it,  she  is  none  the  less  a  most  delightful  person, 
and  a  very  fine  character  ! '' 

"  Oh,  no  doubt  of  it,  every  one  must  go  his  own  way.  And 
something  more  original — these  fine  characters  can  sometimes 
baffle  one  completely — just  imagine,  Anna  Andreyevna  took 
my  breath  away  this  morning  by  asking  :  '  Whether  1  were  in 
love  with  Katerina  Nikolaevna  Ahmakov  or  not  ?  *  " 

"  What  a  wild  and  incredible  question  ! "  I  cried,  dumbfoundered 
again.  There  was  actually  a  mist  before  my  eyes  I  had  never 
yet  broached  this  subject  with  him,  and  here  he  had  begun  on  it 
himself.  .  .  . 

"  In  what  way  did  she  put  it  ?  " 

"  No  way,  my  dear  boy,  absolutely  no  way ;  the  snuff-box 
shut  again  at  once,  more  closely  than  ever,  and  what's  more, 
observe,  I've  never  admitted  the  conceivability  of  such  questions 
being  addressed  to  me,  nor  has  she  .  .  .  however,  you  say 
yourself  that  you  know  her  and  therefore  you  can  imagine  how 
far  such  a  question  is  characteristic.  .  ,  .  Do  you  know  any- 
thing about  it  by  chance  ?  " 

"  I  am  just  as  puzzled  as  you  are.  Curiosity,  perhaps,  or  a 
joke." 

"  Oh,  quite  the  contrary,  it  was  a  most  serious  question, 
hardly  a  question  in  fact,  more  a  cross-examination,  and 
evidently  there  were  very  important  and  positive  reasons  foi 
it.  Won't  you  be  going  to  see  her  ?  Couldn't  you  find  out 
something  ?     I  would  ask  you  as  a  favour,  do  you  see  .  .  ." 

"  But  the  strangest  thing  is  that  she  could  imagine  you  to  be 
in  love  with  Katerina  Nikolaevna  !  Forgive  me,  I  can't  get  over 
my  amazement,  I  should  never,  never  have  ventured  to  speak 
to  you  on  this  subject,  or  anything  like  it." 

"  And  that's  very  sensible  of  you,  my  dear  boy." 
"  Your  intrigues  and  your  relatione  in  the  past— well,  of  course, 
the  subject's  out  of  the  question  between  us,  and  indeed  it  would 
be  stupid  of  me,  but  of  late,  the  last  few  days,  I  have  several 
times  exclaimed  to  myself  that  if  you  had  ever  loved  that 
woman,  if  only  for  a  moment — oh,  you  could  never  have  made 
such  a  terrible  mistake  in  your  opinion  of  her  as  you  did  !  I 
know  what  happened,  I  know  of  your  enmity,  of  уош-  aversion, 
so  to  say,  for  each  other,  I've  heard  of  it,  I've  heard  too  much 
of  it ;  even  before  I  left  Moscow  I  heard  of  it,  but  the  fact  that 

264 


stands  out  so  clearly  is  intense  aversion,  intense  hostility,  the 
very  opposite  of  love,  and  Anna  Andreyevna  suddenly  asks 
point-blank,  '  Do  you  love  her  ?  '  Can  she  have  heard  so  little 
about  it  ?  It's  wild  !  She  was  laughing,  I  assure  you  she  was 
laughing  !  " 

"  But  I  observe,  my  dear  bey,"  said  Versilov,  and  there  was 
something  nervous  and  sincere  in  his  voice,  that  went  to  one's 
heart,  as  his  words  rarely  did  :  "  that  you  speak  with  too  much 
heat  on  this  subject.  You  said  just  now  that  you  have  taken 
to  visiting  ladies  ...  of  course,  for  me  to  question  you  ...  on 
that  subject,  as  you  expressed  it.  .  .  .  But  is  not  '  that  woman  ' 
perhaps  on  the  list  of  your  new  acquaintances  ?  " 

"  That  woman  "...  my  voice  suddenly  quivered  ;  "  listen, 
Andrey  Petrovitch,  listen.  That  woman  is  what  you  were 
talking  of  with  Prince  Sergay  this  morning,  '  living  life,'  do  you 
remember  ?  You  said  that  living  life  is  something  so  direct 
and  simple,  something  that  looks  you  so  straight  in  the  face, 
that  its  very  directness  and  clearness  make  us  unable  to  believe 
that  it  can  be  the  very  thing  we're  seeking  so  laboriously  all  our 
lives.  .  .  .  With  ideas  like  that,  you  met  the  ideal  woman  and 
in  perfection,  in  the  ideal,  you  recognized  '  all  the  vices ' !  That's 
what  you  did  !  " 

The  reader  can  guess  what  a  state  of  frenzy  I  was  in. 

"  All  the  vices  !  Oho  !  I  know  that  phrase,"  cried  Versilov  : 
"  and  if  things  have  gone  so  far,  that  you  are  told  of  such  a 
phrase,  oughtn't  I  to  congratulate  you  ?  It  suggests  such 
a  degree  of  intimacy,  that  perhaps  you  deserve  credit  for  a 
modesty  and  reserve  of  which  few  young  men  are  capable." 

There  was  a  note  of  sweet,  friendly  and  affectionate  laughter 
in  his  voice  .  .  .  there  was  something  challenging  and  charming 
in  his  words,  and  in  his  bright  face,  as  far  as  I  could  see  it  in  the 
night.  He  was  strangely  excited.  I  beamed  all  over  in  spite 
of  myself. 

"  Modesty,  reserve  !  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  I  exclaimed  blushing 
and  at  the  same  time  squeezing  his  hand,  which  I  had  somehow 
seized  and  was  imconsciously  holding.  "  No,  there's  no  reason  ! 
...  In  fact  there's  nothing  to  congratulate  me  on,  and  nothing 
of  the  sort  can  ever,  ever  happen." 

I  was  breathless  and  let  myself  go,  I  so  longed  to  let  myself 
go,  it  was  so  very  agreeable  to  me. 

"You  know  .  .  .  Well,  after  all  I  will  .  .  .  just  this  once  .  .  . 
You  are  my  darling,  splendid  father  ;  you  will  allow  me  to  call 

265 


you  father  ;  it's  utterly  out  of  the  question  for  a  son  to  speak 
to  his  father — for  anyone,  in  fact,  to  speak  to  a  third  person — 
of  his  relations  with  a  woman,  even  if  they  are  of  the  purest ! 
In  fact,  the  purer  they  are  the  greater  the  obligation  of  silence. 
It  would  be  distasteful,  it  would  be  coarse  ;  in  short,  a  confidant 
is  out  of  the  question  !  But  if  there's  nothing,  absolutely 
nothing,  then  surely  one  may  speak,  majoi't  one  ?  " 

"  As  your  heart  tells  you  !  " 

"  An  indiscreet,  a  very  indiscreet  question  :  I  suppose  in  the 
course  of  your  life  you've  known  women,  you've  had  intimacies  1 
...  I  only  ask  generally,  generally,  I  don't  mean  anything 
particular  !  "    I  blushed,  and  was  almost  choking  with  delight. 

"  We  will  assume  there  have  been  transgressions." 

"  Well  then,  I  want  to  ask  you  this,  and  you  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  it,  as  a  man  of  more  experience  :  a  woman  suddenly 
says,  as  she  is  taking  leave  of  you,  casually,  looking  away,  'To- 
morrow at  three  o'clock  I  shall  be  at  a  certain  place  ...  at 
Tatyana  Pavlovna's,  for  example,'  "  I  burst  out,  taking  the 
final  plunge.  My  heart  throbbed  and  stood  still ;  I  even  ceased 
speaking,  I  could  not  go  on.  He  listened  eagerly.  "  And  so 
next  day  at  three  o'clock  I  went  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna's,  and 
this  is  what  I  thought :  '  when  the  cook  opens  the  door  ' — you 
know  her  cook — '  I  shall  ask  first  thing  whether  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  is  at  home  ?  And  if  the  cook  says  Tatyana  Pavlovna 
is  not  at  home,  but  there's  a  visitor  waiting  for  her,'  what  ought 
I  to  conclude,  tell  me  if  it  were  you  ...  In  short,  if  you  .  .  ." 

"  Simply  that  an  apointment  had  been  made  you.  Then  I 
suppose  that  did  happen,  and  it  happened  to-day.     Yes  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no,  nothing,  nothing  of  the  sort !  It  did  happen, 
but  it  wasn't  that ;  it  was  an  appointment,  but  not  of  that 
sort,  and  I  hasten  to  say  so  or  I  should  be  a  blackguard ;  it  did 
happen,  but.  .  .  ." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  all  this  begins  to  be  so  interesting  that  I 
suggest  ..." 

"  I  used  to  give  away  ten  roubles  and  twenty-five  roubles  at 
a  time  to  those  who  begged  of  me.  For  a  drink  !  just  a  few 
coppers,  it's  a  lieutenant  implores  your  aid,  a  former  lieutenant 
begging  of  you  !  " 

Our  road  was  suddenly  barred  by  the  figure  of  a  tall  beggar 
possibly,  in  fact,  a  retired  lieutenant.  What  was  most  singular 
was  that  he  was  very  well  dressed  for  his  profession,  and  yet  he 
was  begging. 

266 


I  purposely  do  not  omit  this  paltry  incident  of  the  wretched 
lieutenant,  for  my  picture  of  Versilov  is  not  complete  .without 
the  petty  details  of  his  surroundings  at  that  minute,  which  was 
so  momentous  for  him — momentous  it  was,  and  I  did  not  know 
it! 

"  If  you  don't  leave  ofE,  sir,  I  shall  call  the  police  at  once," 
Versilov  said,  suddenly  raising  his  voice  unnaturally,  and  stand- 
ing still  before  the  lieutenant.  I  could  never  imagine  such  anger 
from  a  man  so  philosophic,  and  for  such  a  trivial  cause.  And, 
note,  our  conversation  was  interrupted  at  the  point  of  most 
interest  to  him,  as  he  had  just  said  himself. 

"  What,  you  haven't  a  five-kopeck  piece  ?  "  the  lieutenant 
cried  rudely,  waving  his  hand  in  the  air.  "  And  indeed  what 
canaille  have  five  kopecks  nowadays  !  the  low  rabble !  the 
scoundrels  !  He  goes  dressed  in  beaver,  and  makes  all  this  to- 
do  about  a  copper !  " 

"Constable,"  cried  Versilov. 

But  there  was  no  need  to  shout,  a  poUceman  was  standing 
close  by,  at  the  comer,  and  he  had  heard  the  lieutenant's  abuse 
himself. 

"  I  ask  you  to  bear  witness  to  this  insult,  I  ask  you  to  eome 
to  the  police-station,"  said  Versilov. 

"  0-ho,  I  don't  care,  there's  nothing  at  all  you  can  prove  I 
You  won't  show  yourself  so  wonderfully  clever  !  " 

"Keep  hold  of  him,  constable,  and  take  us  to  the  poUce- 
Btation,"  Versilov  decided  emphatically. 

"  Surely  we  are  not  going  to  the  pohce-station  ?  Bother  the 
fellow  !  "  I  whispered  to  him. 

"  Certainly  we  are,  dear  boy.  The  disorderly  behaviour  in 
our  streets  begins  to  bore  one  beyond  endurance,  and  if  every- 
one did  his  duty  it  would  make  it  better  for  us  all.  C'est  comique. 
mats  c'est  ce  que  nousferons.'' 

For  a  hundred  paces  the  lieutenant  kept  up  a  bold  and 
iwaggering  demeanour,  and  talked  with  heat ;  he  declared 
■'  that  it  was  not  the  thing  to  do,"  that  it  was  "all  a  matter  of 
five  kopecks,"  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  But  at  last  he  began 
whispering  something  to  the  policeman.  The  policeman,  a 
sagacious  man,  with  apparently  a  distaste  for  exhibitions  of 

267 


"  nerves  "  in  the  street,  seemed  to  be  on  his  side,  though  only  to 
a  certain  degree.  He  muttered  in  an  undertone,  in  reply,  thai 
"  it  was  too  late  for  that  now,"  that  "  it  had  gone  too  far,"  and 
that  "  if  you  were  to  apologize,  for  instance,  and  the  gentleman 
would  consent  to  accept  уош"  apology,  then  perhaps  .  .  .  ." 

'*  Come  li-isten,  honoured  sir,  where  are  we  going  ?  I  ask 
you  what  are  we  hurrying  to  and  what's  the  joke  of  it  ?  "  the 
lieutenant  cried  aloud  :  "  if  a  man  who  is  down  on  his  luck  is 
willing  to  make  an  apology  ...  in  fact,  if  you  want  to  put  him 
down  ,  .  .  damn  it  all !  we  are  not  in  a  drawing-room,  we  are 
in  the  street !     For  the  street,  that's  apology  enough.  .  .  ." 

Versilov  stopped,  and  suddenly  burst  out  laughing  ;  I  actually 
imagined  that  he  had  got  the  whole  thing  up  for  amusement, 
but  it  was  not  so. 

"  I  entirely  accept  your  apology.  Monsieur  I'officier,  and  I 
assmre  you  that  you  are  a  man  of  ability.  Behave  like  that  in 
the  drawing-room  ;  it  will  soon  pass  muster  perfectly  there,  too, 
and  meanwhile  here  are  twenty  kopecks  for  you ;  eat  and  drink 
your  fill  with  it ;  pardon  me,  constable,  for  troubling  you ;  I 
would  have  thanked  you  more  substantially  for  уош"  pains,  but 
you  are  so  highly  respectable  nowadays.  .  .  .  My  dear  boy," 
he  added  turning  to  me,  "  there's  an  eating  house  close  here, 
it's  really  a  horrible  sewer,  but  one  could  get  tea  there,  and  I 
invite  you  to  a  cup  .  .  .  this  way,  quite  close,  come  along." 

I  repeat, «I  had  never  seen  him  so  excited,  though  his  face 
was  full  of  brightness  and  gaiety  ;  yet  I  noticed  that  when  he 
was  taking  the  coin  out  of  his  purse  to  give  it  to  the  officer, 
his  hands  trembled,  and  his  fingers  refused  to  obey  him,  so  that 
at  last  he  asked  me  to  take  out  the  money,  and  give  it  to  the 
man  for  him  ;  I  cannot  forget  it. 

He  took  me  to  a  Uttle  restaiurant  on  the  canal  side,  in  the 
basement.  The  customers  were  few.  A  loud  barrel-organ 
was  playing  out  of  tune,  there  was  a  smell  of  dirty  dinner  napkins  ; 
we  sat  down  in  a  comer. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  know.  I  am  sometimes  so  bored  .  ,  , 
so  horribly  bored  in  my  soul  .  .  .  that  I  like  coming  to  all  sorts 
of  stinking  holes  like  this.  These  siuroundings,  the  halting 
time  from  '  Lucia,'  the  waiters  in  their  imseemly  Russian  get- 
up,  the  fumes  of  cheap  tobacco,  the  shouts  from  the  billiard- 
room,  it's  all  so  vulgar  and  prosaic  that  it  almost  borders  on  the 
fantastic.  .  .  .  Well,  my  dear  boy,  that  son  of  Mars  interrupted 
us,  I  believe,  at  the  most  interesting  moment.  .  .  .  Here's  the  tea ; 

268 


I  like  the  tea  here.  .  .  .  Imagine  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  suddenly 
began  to-day  assuring  the  other  lodger,  the  one  marked  with 
small-pox,  that  during  the  last  century  a  special  committee  of 
lawyers  was  appointed  in  the  English  parUament  to  examine 
the  trial  of  Christ  before  the -High  Priest  and  Pilate,  with  the 
sole  object  of  finding  how  the  case  would  have  gone  nowadays 
by  modem  law,  and  that  the  inquiry  was  conducted  with  all 
solemnity,  with  counsel  for  the  prosecution  and  all  the  rest  of 
it.  .  .  .  And  that  the  jury  were  obliged  to  uphold  the  original 
verdict.  ...  A  wonderful  story  !  That  fool  of  a  lodger  began 
to  argue  about  it,  lost  his  temper,  quarrelled  and  declared  he 
should  leave  next  day.  .  .  .  The  landlady  dissolved  in  tears  at 
the  thought  of  losing  his  rent  .  .  .  Mais  passons.  In  these 
restaurants  they  sometimes  have  nightingales.  Do  you  know 
the  old  Moscow  anecdote  a  la  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  ?  A  nightingale 
was  singing  in  a  Moscow  restaurant,  a  merchant  came  in  ;  'I 
must  have  my  fancy,  whatever  it  costs,  said  he,  '  what's  the 
price  of  the  nightingale  ? '  '  A  hundred  roubles.'  '  Roast  it 
and  serve  it.'  So  they  roasted  it  and  s^ved  it  up.  '  Cut  me 
off  two-pennorth.'  I  once  told  it  to  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch,  but  he 
did  not  believe  it,  and  was  quite  indignant." 

He  said  a  great  deal  more.  I  quote  theee  fragments  as  a 
sample  of  his  talk.  He  repeatedly  interrupted  me  every  time 
I  opened  my  mouth  to  begin  my  story.  He  began  each  time 
talking  of  some  pecuhar  and  utterly  irrelevant  nonsense  ;  he 
talked  gaijy,  excitedly  ;  laughed,  goodness  knows  what  at,  and 
even  chuckled  in  an  undignified  way,  as  I  had  never  seen  him  do 
before.  He  swallowed  a  glass  of  tea  at  one  gulp,  and  poured 
out  another.  Now  I  can  understand  it,  he  was  like  a  man  who 
had  received  a  precious,  interesting,  and  long-expected  letter, 
and  who  lays  it  down  before  him  and  purposely  refrains  from 
opening  it,  turning  it  over  and  over  in  his  hands,  examining  the 
envelope  and  the  seal,  going  to  see  to  things  in  another  room,  in 
short  deferring  the  interesting  moment  of  perusal,  knowing  that 
it  cannot  escape  him.  And  all  this  he  does  to  make  his  enjoy- 
ment more  complete. 

I  told  him  all  there  was  to  tell,  of  course,  everjrthing  from 
the  very  beginning,  and  it  took  me  perhaps  an  hour  telling  it. 
And  indeed  how  could  I  have  helped  telling  him  ?  I  had  been 
dying  to  talk  of  it  that  aftemooA.  I  began  with  our  very  first 
meeting  at  the  old  prince's  on  the  day  she  arrived  from  Moscow  ; 
then  I  described  how  it  had  all  come  about  by  degrees.     I  left 

269 


nothing  out,  and  indeed  I  could  not  have  left  anything  out ;  he 
led  me  on,  he  guessed  what  was  coming  and  prompted  me.  At 
moments  it  seemed  to  me  that  something  fantastic  was  happen- 
ing, that  he  must  have  been  sitting  or  standing  behind  the  door, 
for  those  two  months  ;  he  knew  beforehand  every  gesture  I 
made,  every  feeling  I  had  felt.  I  derived  infinite  enjoyment 
from  this  confession  to  him,  for  I  found  in  him  such  intimate 
softness,  such  deep  psychological  subtlety,  such  a  marvellous 
faculty  for  guessing  what  I  meant  from  half  a  word.  He  listened 
as  tenderly  as  a  woman.  And  above  all  he  knew  how  to  save 
me,  from  feeling  ashamed  ;  at  times  he  stopped  me  at  some 
detail ;  often  when  he  stopped  me  ho  repeated  nervously : 
"  Don't  forget  details  ;  the  great  thing  is,  not  to  forget  any 
details  :  the  more  minute  a  point  is,  the  more  important  it  may 
sometimes  be."  And  he  interrupted  me  several  times  with 
words  to  that  effect.  Oh,  of  coiu-se  I  began  at  first  in  a  tone  of 
superiority,  superiority  to  her,  but  I  quickly  dropped  into 
sincerity.  I  told  him  honestly  that  I  was  ready  to  kiss  the 
spot  on  the  floor  where  her  foot  had  rested.  The  most  beautiful 
and  glorious  thing  was  that  he  absolutely  understood  that  she 
might  "  be  suffering  from  terror  over  the  letter  "  and  yet  remain 
the  pure  and  irreproachable  being  she  had  revealed  herself  to  be. 
He  absolutely  realized  what  was  meant  by  the  word  "  student." 
But  when  I  was  near  the  end  of  my  story  I  noticed  that 
behind  his  good-natured  smile  there  were  signs  in  his  face 
from  time  to  time  of  some  impatience,  some  abruptness  and 
preoccupation ;  when  I  came  to  the  letter,  I  thought  to 
myself  : 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  the  exact  truth  or  not  ?  "  and  I  did  not  tell 
it,  in  spite  of  my  enthusiasm.  I  note  this  here  that  I  may 
remember  it  all  my  life.  I  explained  to  him,  as  I  had  done  to 
her,  that  it  had  been  destroyed  by  Kraft.  His  eyes  began  to 
glow ;  a  strange  line,  a  line  of  deep  gloom  was  visible  on  his 
forehead. 

"  You  are  sure  you  remember,  my  dear  boy,  that  that  letter 
was  burned  by  ELraft  in  the  candle  ?     You  are  not  mistaken  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,"  I  repeated. 

"  The  point  is  that  that  scrap  of  paper  is  of  such  importance 
to  her,  and  if  you  had  only  had  it  in  your  hands  to-day,  you 
might  .  .  ."  But  what  "  I  might "  he  did  not  say.  "  But 
you  haven't  it  in  your  hands  now  ?  " 

I  shuddered   all   over  inwardly,   but  not  outwardly.     Out- 

270 


waxdly  I  did  not  betray  myself,  I  did  not  turn  a  hair ;  but  I 
was  stiJl  unwilling  to  believe  in  the  question  : 

"  Haven't  it  in  my  hands  !  In  my  hands  now  ?  How  could  I 
since  Kraft  bumed  it  that  day  ?  " 

"  Yes  ?  "  A  glowing  intent  look  was  fastened  upon  me,  a 
look  I  shall  never  forget ;  he  smiled,  however,  but  all  his  good- 
nature, all  the  feminine  softness  that  had  been  in  his  expression 
suddenly  vanished.  It  was  replaced  by  something  vague  and 
troubled  ;  he  become  more  and  more  preoccupied.  If  he  had 
controlled  himself  at  that  moment,  as  he  had  till  then,  he  would 
not  have  asked  me  that  question  about  the  letter  ;  he  had 
asked  it,  no  doubt,  because  he  was  carried  away  himself.  I  say 
this,  however,  only  now  ;  at  the  time,  I  did  not  so  quickly  per- 
ceive the  change  that  had  come  over  him  ;  I  still  went  on 
plunging,  and  there  was  still  the  same  music  in  my  heart.  But 
my  story  was  over  ;  I  looked  at  him. 

"  It's  strange,"  he  said  suddenly,  when  I  had  told  him  every- 
thing to  the  minutest  detail :  "  it's  a  very  strange  thing,  my 
dear  boy  :  you  say  that  you  were  there  from  three  o'clock  till 
foiu"  and  that  Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  not  at  home  ?  " 

"  From  three  o'clock  till  half -past  four  exactly." 

"  Well,  only  fancy,  I  went  to  see  Tatyana  Pavlovna  exactly 
at  half-past  four  to  the  minute,  and  she  met  me  in  the  kitchen  : 
I  nearly  always  go  to  see  her  by  the  back  entrance." 

"  What,  she  met  you  in  the  kitchen  ?  "  I  cried,  staggering 
back  in  amazement. 

"  And  she  told  me  she  could  not  ask  me  in  ;  I  only  stayed 
two  minutes,  I  only  looked  in  to  ask  her  to  come  to  dinner." 

"  Perhaps  she  had  only  just  come  home  from  somewhere  1  " 

"I  don't  know,  of  course  not,  though  she  was  wearing  a 
loose  dressing-gown.    That  was  at  half-past  four  exactly." 

"  But  .  .  .  Tatyana  Pavlovna  didn't  tell  you  I  was 
there  ? " 

"  No,  she  did  not  tell  me  you  were  there  .  .  .  otherwise  I 
shoxild  have  known  it,  and  should  not  have  asked  you  about 
it." 

"  Listen,  that's  awfully  important.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes  .  .  .  from  a  certain  point  of  view  ;  and  you've  turned 
quite  white,  my  dear ;  but,  after  all,  what  is  there  important 
in  it  ?  " 

"  They've  been  laughing  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  baby  !  " 

"  It's  simply  '  that  she  was  afraid  of  your  impulsiveness,'  as 

271 


she  expressed  it  herself — ^and  so  she  felt  safer  with  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  there." 

"  But,  good  God,  what  a  trick !  Think,  she  let  me  say  all 
that  before  a  third  person,  before  Tatyana  Pavlovna  ;  so  she 
heard  everjrthing  I  said !  It  .  .  .  it's  horrible  to  conceive 
of!" 

"  C'est  selon,  топ  cher,  Besides,  you  spoke  just  now  of 
'  breadth  '  of  view  in  regard  to  women  and  exclaimed  '  Hurrah 
for  breadth  '  !  " 

"  If  I  were  Othello  and  you  lago,  you  could  not  have  done 
better.  ...  I  am  laughing  though  !  There  can  be  no  sort  of 
Othello,  because  there  have  been  no  relations  of  the  kind.  And 
why  laugh  indeed  ?  It  doesn't  matter  !  I  believe  she's  in- 
finitely above  me  all  the  same,  and  I  have  not  lost  my  ideal ! 
...  If  it  was  a  joke  on  her  part  I  forgive  her.  A  joke  with  a 
wretched  raw  youth  doesn't  matter  !  Besides,  I  did  not  pose 
as  anything,  and  the  student — the  student  was  there  in  her 
soul,  and  remained  there  in  spite  of  everything ;  it  was  in  her 
heart,  it  exists  there,  and  will  always  exist  there  !  Enough  ! 
Listen,  what  do  you  think  :  shall  I  go  to  her  at  once  to  find  out 
the  whole  truth  or  not  1  " 

I  said  "  I  am  laughing,"  but  there  were  tears  in  my  eyes. 

"  Well,  my  dear  boy,  go  if  you  want  to." 

"  I  feel  as  though  1  were  defiled  in  soul,  from  having  told  you 
all  this.  Don't  be  angry,  dear,  but,  I  repeat,  one  can't  tell  things 
about  a  woman  to  a  third  person  ;  no  confidant  will  understand. 
Even  an  angel  wouldn't  understand.  If  you  respeet  a  woman, 
don't  confide  in  anyone  !  If  you  respect  yourself  don't  confide 
in  anyone.  Now  I  don't  respect  myself.  Good-bye  for  the 
present ;   I  can't  forgive  myself." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  boy,  you  exaggerate.  You  say  your- 
self that  '  there  was  nothing  in  it.'  " 

We  came  out  on  the  canal  bank  and  said  good-bye. 

"  Will  you  never  give  me  a  real  warm  kiss,  as  a  child  kisses 
its  father  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  strange  quiver  in  his  voice.  I 
kissed  him  fervently. 

''  Dear  boy  .  .  .  may  you  be  always  as  pure  in  heart  as  you 
are  now." 

I  had  never  kissed  him  before  in  my  life,  1  never  could  have 
conceived  that  he  would  like  me  to. 


272 


CHAPTER  VI 


"  I'll  go,  of  course  !  *'  I  made  up  my  mind  as  I  hurried  home, 
"  I'll  go  at  once.  Very  likely  I  shall  find  her  at  home  alone  ; 
whether  she  is  alone  or  with  some  one  else  makes  no  difference  : 
I  can  ask  her  to  come  out  to  me.  She  will  receive  me  ;  she'll  be 
surprised,  but  she  wiU  receive  me.  And  if  she  won't  see  me  I'll 
insist  on  her  seeing  me,  I'll  send  in  word  that  it's  most  lygent. 
She  will  think  it's  something  about  that  letter  and  will  see  me. 
And  I'll  find  out  all  about  Tatyana  there  .  .  .  and  what  then  ? 
If  I  am  not  right  I  will  be  her  servant,  if  I  am  right  and  she  is 
to  blame  it's  the  end  of  everything  !  In  any  case  it's  the  end 
of  everything  !  What  am  I  going  to  lose  ?  I  can  lose  nothing. 
I'll  go!   I'll  go!" 

I  shall  never  forget  and  I  recall  with  pride  that  I  did  not  go  ! 
It  will  never  be  known  to  anyone,  it  will  die  with  me,  but  it's 
enough  that  I  know  of  it  and  at  such  a  moment  I  was  capable 
of  an  hono;irable  impulse. 

"  This  is  a  temptation,  and  I  will  put  it  behind  me,"  I  made 
up  my  mind  at  last,  on  second  thoughts.  They  had  tried  to 
terrify  me  with  a  fact,  but  I  refused  to  believe  it,  and  had  not 
lost  my  faith  in  her  purity  !  And  what  had  I  to  go  for,  what 
was  there  to  find  out  about  ?  Why  was  she  bound  to  believe 
in  me  as  I  did  in  her,  to  have  faith  in  my  "  purity,"  not  to  be 
afraid  of  my  "  impulsiveness  "  and  not  to  provide  against  all 
risks  with  Tatyana  ?  I  had  not  yet,  as  far  as  she  could  see, 
deserved  her  confidence.  No  matter,  no  matter  that  she  does 
not  know  that  I  am  worthy  of  it,  that  I  am  not  seduced  by 
"  temptations,"  that  I  do  not  believe  in  malicious  calumnies 
against  her  ;  I  know  it  and  I  shall  respect  myself  for  it.  I  shall 
respect  my  own  feeling.  Oh,  yes,  she  had  allowed  me  to  utter 
everything  before  Tatyana,  she  had  allowed  Tatyana  to  be  there, 
she  knew  that  Tatyana  was  sitting  there  listening  (for  she  was 
incapable  of  not  hstening) ;  she  knew  that  she  was  b'jghing  at 
me  out  there, — that  was  awful,  awful !  But  .  .  .  but  what  if  it 
were  impossible  to  avoid  it  ?  What  could  she  have  done  in 
her  position,  and  how  could  one  blame  her  for  it  ?  Why,  I  had 
told  her  a  lie  about  l\jaft,  I  had  deceived  her  because  that,  too, 

^--,  в 


could  not  be  helped,  and  I  had  lied  innocently  against  my  will. 
"  My  God !  "  I  cried  suddenly,  flushing  painfully,  "  what 
have  I  just  done  myself !  Haven't  I  exposed  her,  too,  before 
Tatyana,  haven't  I  repeated  it  all  to  Versilov  just  now  ?  Though, 
after  all,  there  was  a  differenpe.  It  was  only  a  question  of  the 
letter  ;  I  had  in  reality  only  told  Versilov  about  the  letter 
because  there  was  nothing  else  to  tell,  and  could  be  nothing 
else.  Was  not  I  the  first  to  declare  that  "  there  could  not  be  "  ? 
He  was  a  man  of  insight.  Hm  !  But  what  hatred  there  was 
in  his  heart  for  this  woman  even  to  this  day  !  And  what  sort 
of  drama  must  have  taken  place  between  them  in  the  past, 
and  about  what  ?  All  due  to  vanity,  of  course  !  "  Versilov  cannot 
be  capable  of  ajiy  feeling  but  boundless  vanity  I  " 

That  last  thought  rose  spontaneously  in  my  mind  and  I  did 
not  even  remark  it.  Such  were  the  thoughts  that  floated  through 
mj'  mind  one  after  another,  and  I  was  straightforAvard  with 
myself  :  I  did  not  cheat  or  deceive  myself  ;  and  if  there  was 
anything  I  did  not  understand  at  that  moment,  it  was  not  from 
sophistry  with  myself  but  only  from  lack  of  brains. 

I  returned  home  in  great  excitement,  and — I  don't  know  why 
— in  a  very  cheerful,  though  confused  state  of  mind.  But  I 
was  afraid  of  analysing  my  feelings  and  did  my  utmost  to  distract 
my  mind.  I  went  in  at  once  to  see  my  landlady  :  it  turned  out 
that  a  terrible  quarrel  really  had  taken  place  between  her  husband 
and  her.  She  was  in  advanced  consumption,  and  though, 
perhaps,  she  was  a  good-natured  woman,  like  all  consumptives 
she  was  of  uncertain  temper.  I  began  trying  to  reconcile  them 
at  once ;  I  went  to  the  lodger,  who  was  a  very  vain  little  bank 
clerk,  called,  Tchervyak,  a  coarse  pock-marked  fool.  I  disliked 
him  very  much,  but  I  got  on  with  him  quite  well,  for  I  often  was 
so  mean  as  to  join  him  in  turning  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  into  ridicule. 
I  at  once  persuaded  him  to  keep  on  the  lodgings,  and  indeed  he 
would  not  in  any  case  have  really  gone  so  far  as  to  move.  It 
ended  in  my  reassuring  the  landlady  completely,  and  even 
succeeding  in  very  deftly  putting  я  pillow  under  her  head  : 
"  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  would  never  have  known  how  to  do  it," 
she  commented  malignantly.  Then  I  busied  myself  in  the  kitchen 
preparing  mustard  plasters  for  her  and  succeeded  in  making  two 
capital  ones  with  my  own  hand.  Poor  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  looked 
on  envious,  but  I  did  not  allow  him  to  touch  them,  and  was 
rewarded  by  liberal  tears  of  gratitude  from  the  lady.  I  re- 
member I  suddenly  felt  sick  of  it  all,  and  suddenly  realized  that 

274 


I  was  not  looking  after  the  invalid  from  kindness  at  all,  but  from 
something  else,  some  very  different  motive. 

I  waited  for  Matvey  with  nervous  impatience  :  I  had  resolved 
that  evening  to  try  my  luck  at  cards  for  the  last  time  and  .  .  . 
and,  apart  from  my  need  to  win,  I  had  an  intense  longing  to 
play  ;  but  for  that,  my  excitement  would  have  been  vm bearable. 
К  I  had  not  gone  anywhere  I  might  have  been  unable  to  hold 
out  and  should  have  gone  to  her.  It  was  almost  time  for  Matvey 
to  come,  when  the  door  was  opened  and  an  unexpected  visitor. 
Багз^а  Onisimovna,  walked  m.  I  frowned  and  was  surprised. 
She  knew  my  lodging,  for  she  had  been  there  once  with  some 
message  from  my  mother.  I  made  her  sit  down  and  looked 
at  her  inquiringly.  She  said  nothing,  and  only  looked  straight 
into  my  face  with  a  deferential  smile. 

"  You've  not  come  from  Liza  ?  "  it  occurred  to  me  to  ask. 

"  No,  it's  nothing  special." 

I  informed  her  that  I  was  just  going  out ;  she  replied  again 
that  it  was  "  nothing  special,"  and  that  she  was  going  herself 
in  a  minute.  I  suddenly  for  some  .reason  felt  sorry  for  her. 
I  may  observe  that  she  had  met  with  a  great  deal  of  sympathy 
from  all  of  usj  from  my  mother,  and  still  more  from  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  but  after  installing  her  at  Mme.  Stolbyeev's  all  of  us 
had  rather  begvm  to  forget  her,  except  perhaps  Liza,  who  often 
visited  her.  I  think  she  was  herself  the  cause  of  this  neglect, 
for  she  had  a  special  faculty  for  effacing  herself  and  holding 
herself  aloof  from  people  in  spite  of  her  obsequiousness  and  her 
ingratiating  smiles .  I  personally  disliked  those  smiles  of  hers,  and 
her  affected  expression,  and  I  even  imagined  on  one  occasion 
that  she  had  not  grieved  very  long  for  her  Olya.  But  this  time 
for  some  reason  I  felt  very  sorry  for  her. 

And  behold,  without  uttering  a  word,  she  suddenly  bent  for- 
ward with  her  eyes  cast  down,  and  all  at  once,  throwing  her  arms 
roimd  my  waist,  hid  her  face  on  my  knees.  She  seized  ray  hand, 
I  thought  she  meant  to  kiss  it,  but  she  pressed  it  to  her  eyes, 
and  hot  tears  trickled  upon  it.  She  was  shaking  all  over  with 
sobs,  but  she  wept  silently.  It  sent  a  pang  to  my  heart,  even 
though  I  felt  at  the  same  time  somehow  annoyed.  But  she  was 
embracing  me  with  perfect  confidence  and  without  the  least  fear 
that  I  might  be  vexed,  though  only  just  before  she  had  smiled 
so  timidly  and  cringingly. 

I  began  begging  her  to  calm  herself. 

"  Kind,  good  friend,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  myself. 

275 


As  soon  as  it  gets  dark,  I  can't  bear  it ;  as  soon  as  it  gets  dark  I 
can't  go  on  bearing  it,  and  I  feel  drawn  into  the  street,  into  the 
darkness.  And  I  am  drawn  there  by  my  imaginings.  My  mind 
is  possessed  by  the  fancy  that  as  soon  as  ever  I  go  out  I  shall 
meet  her  in  the  street.  I  walk  and  seem  to  see  her.  That  is 
other  girls  are  walking  along  the  street  and  I  walk  behind  them 
on  purpose,  and  I  think  :  '  Isn't  it  she,  there  she  is,'  I  think,  '  it 
really  is  my  Olya  !  '  I  dream  and  dream.  I  turn  giddy  at  last, 
and  feel  sick,  and  stumble  and  jostle  against  people ;  I  stumble 
as  though  I  were  drunk  and  some  swear  at  me  ;  I  hide  by  myself 
and  don't  go  to  see  anyone,  and  wherever  one  goes,  it  makes 
one's  heart  more  sick ;  I  passed  by  your  lodging  just  now,  and 
thought  :  'I'll  go  in  to  him ;  he  is  kinder  than  any  of  them, 
and  he  was  there  at  the  time.'  Forgive  a  poor  creature  who's 
no  use  to  anyone ;   I'll  go  away  directly ;  I'm  going.  .  .  ." 

She  suddenly  got  up  and  made  haste  to  depart.  Matvey 
arrived  just  then ;  I  made  her  get  into  the  sledge  with  me,  and 
left  her  at  Mme.  Stolbyeev's  on  my  way. 


I  had  of  late  begun  to  frequent  Zerstchikov's  gambling  saloon. 
I  had  so  far  visited  three  gambling  houses,  always  in  company 
with  Prince  Sergay,  who  had  introduced  me  to  these  places.  At 
one  of  these  houses  the  game  was  faro  especially,  and  the  stakes 
were  high.  But  I  did  not  care  for  going  there  :  I  saw  that  one 
could  not  get  on  there  without  a  long  purse,  and  also  that  the 
place  was  crowded  Avith  insolent  fellows  and  swaggering  young 
snobs.  This  was  what  Prince  Sergay  liked ;  he  liked  playing, 
too,  but  he  particularly  liked  getting  to  know  these  young 
prodigals.  I  noticed  that  though  he  went  in  with  me  he  4tept 
away  from  me  during  the  evening  and  did  not  introduce  me  to 
any  of  "  his  set."  I  stared  about  me  like  a  wild  man  of  the 
woods,  so  much  so  that  I  sometimes  attracted  attention.  At 
the  gambling  table  people  spoke  to  one  another  freely;  but  once 
I  tried  bowing  next  day  to  a  young  fop,  with  whom  I  had  not 
only  talked  but  laughed  the  previous  evening,  sitting  beside 
him,  and  had  even  guessed  two  cards  from  him.  Yet  when  I 
greeted  him  in  the  same  room  next  day,  he  actually  did  not 
recognize  me.  Or  what  was  worse,  stared  at  me  with  simulated 
amazement,  and  passed  by  with  a  smile.     So  I  quickly  gave  up 

276 


the  place  and  preferred  to  visit  a,  "  sewer  " — I  don't  know  what 
else  to  call  it — it  was  a  wretched  sordid  little  place  for  roulette, 
managed  by  a  kept  woman,  who,  however,  never  showed  herself 
in  the  saloon.  It  was  all  horribly  free  and  easy  there,  and  though 
officers  and  wealthy  merchants  sometimes  frequented  it,  there 
was  a  squaUd  filthiness  about  the  place,  though  that  was  an 
attraction  to  many.  Moreover,  I  was  often  lucky  there.  But  I 
gave  that  place  up,  too,  after  a  disgusting  scene,  which  occurred 
when  the  game  was  at  its  hottest  and  ended  in  a  fight  between 
two  players.  I  began  going  instead  to  Zerstchikov's,  to  which 
Prince  Sergay  took  me  also.  The  man  was  a  retired  captain, 
and  the  tone  at  his  rooms  was  very  tolerable,  military,  curt, 
and  businesslike,  and  there  was  a  fastidiously  scrupulous  keeping 
up  of  the  forms  of  punctilio.  No  boisterous  practical  jokers  or 
very  fast  men  frequented  it.  Moreover,  the  stakes  plaj^ed  for 
were  often  considerable.  Both  faro  and  roulette  were  played. 
I  had  only  been  there  twice  before  that  evening,  the  15th  of 
November,  but  I  beUeve  Zerstchikov  already  knew  me  by  sight ; 
I  had  made  no  acquaintances  there,  however.  As  luck  would 
have  it  Prince  Sergay  did  not  turn  up  till  about  midnight, 
when  he  dropped  in  with  Darzan  after  spending  the  evening 
at  the  gambling  saloon  of  the  yoixng  snobs  which  I  had  given 
up  ;  and  so  that  evening  I  found  myself  alone  and  unknown  in  a 
crowd  of  strangers. 

If  I  had  a  reader  and  he  had  read  all  I  have  written  so  far  of 
my  adventures,  there  would  be  certainly  no  need  to  inform  him 
that  I  am  not  created  for  any  sort  of  society.  The  trouble  is 
I  don't  know  how  to  behave  in  company.  If  I  go  anywhere 
among  a  great  many  people  I  always  have  a  feeling  as  though  I 
were  being  electrified  by  so  many  eyes  looking  at  me.  It 
positively  makes  me  shrivel  up,  physically  shrivel  up,  even  in 
such  places  as  a  theatre,  to  say  nothing  of  private  houses.  I  did 
not  know  how  to  behave  with  dignity  in  these  gambling  saloons 
and  assemblies ;  I  either  sat  still,  inwardly  upbraiding  myself 
for  my  excessive  mildness  and  politeness,  or  I  suddenly  got  up 
and  did  something  rude.  And  meanwhile  all  sorts  of  worthless 
fellows  far  inferior  to  me  knew  how  to  behave  with  wonderful 
aplomb — and  that's  what  exasperated  me  above  everj-thing, 
so  that  I  lost  my  self-possession  more  and  more.  I  may  say 
frankly,  even  at  that  time,  if  the  truth  is  to  be  told,  the  society 
there,  and  even  winning  money  at  cards,  had  become  revolting 
and  a  torture  to  me.     Positively  a  torture.     I  did,  of  co\irse, 

277 


derive  acute  enjoyment  from  it,  but  this  enjoyment  was  at  the 
cost  of  torture  :  the  whole  thing,  the  people,  the  gambling,  and, 
most  of  all,  myself  in  the  midst  of  them,  seemed  horribly  nasty. 
"  As  soon  as  I  win  I'll  chuck  it  all  up  !  "  I  said  to  myself  every 
time  when  I  woke  up  in  my  lodgings  in  the  morning  after 
gambling  over  night.  Then,  again,  how  accoimt  for  my  desire  to 
win,  since  I  certainly  was  not  fond  of  money  1  Not  that  I  am  going 
to  repeat  the  hackneyed  phrases  usual  in  such  explanations,  that  I 
played  for  the  sake  of  the  game,  for  the  pleasure  of  it,  for  the  risk, 
the  excitement  and  so  on,  and  not  for  gain.  I  was  horribly  in 
need  of  money,  and  though  this  was  not  my  chosen  path,  not 
my  idea,  yet  somehow  or  other  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  try  it 
by  way  of  experiment.  I  was  continually  possessed  by  one 
overwhelming  thought :  "  You  maintained  that  one  could 
reckon  with  certainty  on  becoming  a  millionaire  if  only  one  had 
sufficient  strength  of  will ;  you've  tested  your  strength  of  will 
already  ;  so  show  yourself  as  strong  in  this  case  :  can  more 
strength  of  will  be  needed  for  roulette  than  for  your  idea  1  " 
that  is  what  I  kept  repeating  to  myself.  And  as  I  still  retain 
the  conviction,  that  in  games  of  chance,  if  one  has  perfect  control 
of  one's  will,  so  that  the  subtlety  of  one's  intelligence  and  one's 
power  of  calculation  are  preserved,  one  cannot  fail  to  overcome 
the  brutality  of  blind  chance  and  to  win,  I  naturally  could  not 
help  growing  more  and  more  irritated  when  at  every  moment 
I  failed  to  preserve  my  strength  of  will  and  was  carried  away 
by  excitement,  Hke  a  regular  child.  "  Though  I  was  able  to 
endure  hunger,  I  am  not  able  to  control  myself  in  an  absurd 
thing  like  this ! "  that  was  what  provoked  me.  Moreover,  the 
consciousness  that  however  absurd  and  abject  I  might  seem,  I 
had  within  me  a  rich  store  of  strength  which  would  one  day  make 
them  all  change  their  opinion  of  me,  that  consciousness  has  been 
from  the  days  of  my  oppressed  childhood  the  one  spring  of 
life  for  me,  my  light,  my  dignity,  my  weapon  and  my  consolation, 
without  which  I  might  have  committed  suicide  as  a  little  child. 
And  so  how  could  I  help  being  irritated  when  I  saw  what  a 
pitiful  creature  I  became  at  the  gambling  table  ?  That  is  why 
I  could  not  give  up  playing  !  I  see  it  all  clearly  now.  This 
was  the  chief  reason,  but  apart  from  that  my  petty  vanity  was 
wounded.  Losing  had  lowered  me  in  the  eyes  of  Prince  Sergay, 
of  Versilov,  though  he  did  not  deign  to  speak  of  it,  of  every  one, 
even  of  Tatyana  Pavlovna  ;  that  is  what  I  thought,  I  felt.  Finally, 
I  will  make  another  confession  1     By  that  time  I  had  begun 

278 


to  be  corrupted  :  it  had  become  hard  for  me  to  give  up  a  dinner 
of  seven  dishes  at  the  restaurant,  to  give  up  Matvey,  and  the 
English  shop,  to  lose  the  good  opinion  of  my  hairdresser,  and  all 
that,  in  fact.  I  was  conscious  of  it  even  at  the  time,  but  I  refused 
to  admit  the  thought ;  now  I  blush  to  write  it. 


Finding  myself  alone  in  a  crowd  of  strangers,  I  established 
myself  at  first  at  a  corner  of  the  table  and  began  staking  small 
sums.  I  remained  sitting  there  without  stirring  for  two  hours. 
For  those  two  hours  the  play  was  horribly  flat — neither  one 
thing  nor  another.  I  let  slip  some  wonderful  chances  and  tried 
not  to  lose  my  temper,  but  to  preserve  my  coolness  and  confidence. 
At  the  end  of  the  two  hours  I  had  neither  lost  nor  won.  Out  of 
my  three  hundred  roubles  I  had  lost  ten  or  fifteen  roubles. 
This  trivial  result  exasperated  me,  and  what's  more  an  exceed- 
ingly unpleasant,  disgusting  incident  occurred.  I  know  that  such 
gambling  saloons  are  frequented  by  thieves,  who  are  not  simply 
pickpockets  out  of  the  street  but  well-known  gamblers.  I  am 
certain  that  the  well-known  gambler  Aferdov  is  a  thief  ;  he  is 
still  to  be  seen  about  the  town  ;  I  met  him  not  long  ago  driving 
a  pair  of  his  own  ponies,  but  he  is  a  thief  and  he  stole  from  me. 
But  this  incident  I  will  describe  later  ;  what  happened  this 
evening  was  simply  a  prelude. 

I  spent  there  two  hours  sitting  at  a  corner  of  the  table,  and 
beside  me,  on  the  left,  there  was  all  the  time  an  abominable  little 
dandy,  a  Jew  I  believe  ;  he  is  on  some  paper  though,  and  even 
writes  something  and  gets  it  published.  At  the  very  last  moment 
I  suddenly  won  twenty  roubles.  Two  red  notes  lay  before  me, 
and  suddenly  I  saw  this  wTetched  little  Jew  put  out  his  hand 
and  remove  one  of  my  notes.  I  tried  to  stop  him  ;  but  with  a 
most  impudent  air  he  immediately  informed  me,  without  raising 
his  voice  in  the  least,  that  it  was  what  he  had  won,  that  he  had 
just  put  down  a  stake  and  won  it ;  he  declined  to  continue  the 
conversation  and  turned  away.  As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  I  was  in 
a  state  of  extreme  stupidity  at  that  moment :  I  was  brooding  over 
a  great  idea,  and  with  a  curse  I  got  up  quickly  and  walked  away  ; 
I  did  not  want  to  dispute,  so  made  him  a  present  of  the  red  note. 
And  indeed  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  go  into  the  matter 
with  an  impudent  thief,  for  I  had  let  slip  the  right  moment. 

279 


and  the  game  was  going  on  again.  And  that  was  my  great 
mistake,  the  effect  of  which  was  apparent  later  on  :  three  or  four 
players  near  us  saw  how  the  matter  ended,  and  noticing  how 
easily  I  had  given  way,  took  me  for  another  of  the  same  sort. 

It  was  just  twelve  o'clock  ;  I  walked  into  the  other  room,  and 
after  a  little  reflection  formed  a  new  plan.  Going  back  I  changed 
my  notes  at  the  bank  for  half  imperials.  I  received  over  forty 
of  them.  I  divided  them  into  ten  lots,  and  resolved  to  stake 
four  half  imperials  ten  times  running  on  the  zero.  "  If  I  win 
it's  my  luck.  If  I  lose,  so  much  the  better,  I'll  never  play  again." 
I  may  mention  that  zero  had  not  turned  up  once  during  those 
two  hours,  so  that  at  last  no  one  was  staking  on  zero. 

I  put  down  my  stakes  standing,  silent,  frowning  and 
clenching  my  teeth.  At  the  third  round,  Zerstchikov  called 
aloud  zero,  which  had  not  turned  up  all  day.  A  hundred  and 
forty  half  imperials  were  counted  out  to  me  in  gold.  I  had 
seven  chances  left  and  I  went  on,  though  everything  seemed 
whirling  round,  and  dancing  before  my  eyes. 

"  Come  here  !  "  I  shouted  right  across  the  table  to  a  player 
beside  whom  I  had  been  sitting  before,  a  grey-headed  man  with 
a  moustache,  and  a  purple  face,  wearing  evening  dress,  who  had 
been  for  some  hours  staking  small  sums  with  ineffable  patience 
and  losing  stake  after  stake  :  "  come  this  end  !  There's  luck 
here  I  " 

"  Are  you  speaking  to  me  ?  "  the  moustached  gentleman 
shouted  from  the  other  end  of  the  table,  with  a  note  of  menacing 
surprise  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  you  !     You'll  go  on  losing  for  ever  there  !  " 

"  That's  not  your  business,  please  not  to  interfere  Г " 

But  I  could  not  restrain  myself.  An  elderly  officer  was  sitting 
facing  mo  at  the  other  side  of  the  table.  Looking  at  my  stake 
he  muttered  to  his  neighbour  : 

"  That's  queer,  zero.     No,  I  won't  venture  on  zero." 

"  Do,  colonel  1  "  I  shouted  laying  down  another  stake. 

"  Kindly  leave  me  alone,  and  don't  force  your  advice  upon 
me,"  he  rapped  out  sharply.  "  You  are  making  too  much 
noise." 

"  I  am  giving  you  good  advice  ;  would  you  like  to  bet  on  zero's 
turning  up  directly :  ten  gold  pieces,  I'll  bet  that,  will  you  take 
it?" 

And  I  laid  down  ten  half  imperials. 

'■  A  bet  of  ten  gold  pieces  !     That  I  can  do,"  he  brought  out 

280 


drily  and  severely.     "  I'll  bet  against  you  that  zero   won't 
turn  up." 

"  Ten  louis  d'or,  colonel." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  ten  louis  d'or  ?  '* 

"  Ten  half   imperials,   colonel,  and,  in   grand   language,  ten 
louis  d'or." 

"  Well,  then,  say  they  are  half  imperials,  and  please  don't 
joke  with  me." 

I  did  not  of  course  hope  to  win  the  bet ;  there  were  thirty-six 
chances  against  one  that  zero  would  not  turn  up  again  ;  but  I 
proposed  it  out  of  swagger,  and  because  I  wanted  to  attract 
every  one's  attention.  I  quite  saw  that  for  some  reason  nobody 
here  liked  me,  and  that  they  all  would  have  taken  particular 
pleasure  in  letting  me  know  it.  The  roulette  wheel  was  sent 
spinning, — and  what  was  the  general  amazement  when  it  stopped 
at  zero  again  !  There  was  actually  a  general  shout.  The  glory 
of  my  success  dazed  me  completely.  Again  a  hundred  and 
forty  half  imperials  were  counted  out  to  me.  Zerstchikov 
asked  me  if  I  would  not  like  to  take  part  of  them  in  notes,  but  I 
mumbled  something  inarticulate  in  reply,  for  I  was  hterally 
incapable  of  expressing  myself  in  a  calm  and  definite  way.  My 
head  was  going  round  and  my  legs  felt  weak.  I  suddenly  felt  that 
I  would  take  a  fearful  risk  at  once  ;  moreover,  I  had  a  longing 
tO  do  somethLag  more,  to  make  another  bet,  to  carry  off  some 
thousands  from  some  one.  Mechanically  I  scooped  up  my 
notes  and  gold  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand,  and  could  not  collect 
myself  to  count  them.  At  that  moment  I  noticed  Prince  Sergay 
and  Darzan  behind  me  :  they  had  only  just  come  from  their  faro 
saloon,  where  as  I  heard  afterwards  they  had  lost  their  last 
farthing. 

"Ah  1    Darzan,"  I  cried      "  There's  luck  here  !     Stake  on 
zero!" 

"  I've  been  losing,  I've  no  money,"  he  answered  drily  ;  Prince 
Sergay  actually  appeared  not  to  notice  or  recognize  me. 

"  Here's  money,"  I  cried  pointing  to  my  heap  of  gold      "  As 
much  as  you  like." 

*'  Hang  it  all  !  "  cried  Darzan,  flushing  crimson  ;    "I  didn't 
ask  you  for  money,  I  believe." 

"  You  are  being  called,"  said  Zarstchikov   pulling  my  arm. 

The  colonel  who  had  lost  ten  half  imperials  to  me  had  called 
to  me  several  times  almost  abusingly. 

"  Kindly  take  this  !  "  he  shouted,  purple  with  rage.    "  It's 

281 


not  for  me  to  stand  over  you,  but  if  I  don't  you'll  be  saying 
afterwards  you  haven't  had  the  money.     Count  it." 

"  I  trust  you,  I  trust  you,  colonel,  without  counting  ;  only 
please  don't  shout  at  me  like  that  and  don't  be  angry,"  and  I 
drew  his  heap  of  gold  towards  me. 

"  Sir,  I  beg  you  to  keep  your  transports  for  some  one  else  and 
not  to  force  them  on  me,"  the  colonel  rasped  out.  "  I've  never 
fed  pigs  with  you  !  " 

"  It's  queer  to  admit  such  people  " — "  Wbo  is  he  ?  " — 
"  Only  a  lad,"  I  heard  exclamations  in  undertones. 

But  I  did  not  listen,  I  was  staking  at  random,  not  on  zero  this 
time.  I  staked  a  whole  heap  of  hundred  rouble  notes  on  the 
first  eighteen  numbers. 

"  Let's  go,  Darzan,"  I  heard  Prince  Sergay's  voice  behind  me. 

"  Home  ? "  I  asked,  turning  round  to  them.  "  Wait  for  me  : 
we'll  go  together,  I've  had  enough." 

My  stake  won,  I  had  gained  a  big  sum.  "  Enough  !  "  I  cried, 
and  without  counting  the  money  I  began  with  trembling  hands, 
gathering  up  the  gold  and  dropping  it  into  my  pockets,  and 
clumsily  crumpling  the  notes  in  my  fingers,  and  trying  to  stuff 
them  all  at  once  into  my  side  pocket.  Suddenly  Aferdov,  who 
was  sitting  next  to  me  on  the  right  and  had  been  playing  for 
high  stakes,  laid  a  fat  hand  with  a  ring  on  the  first  finger  over 
three  of  my  hundred-rouble  notes. 

"  Excuse  me  that's  not  yours,"  he  brought  out  sternly  and 
incisively,  though  he  spoke  rather  softly. 

This  was  the  prelude,  which  was  destined  a  few  days  after- 
wards to  have  such  a  serious  sequel.  Now  I  swear  on  my 
honour  those  three  notes  were  mine,  but  to  my  misfortune,  at 
the  time,  though  I  was  convinced  they  were  mine  I  still  had  the 
fraction  of  a  doubt,  and  for  an  honest  man,  that  is  enough  ; 
and  I  am  an  honest  man.  What  made  all  the  difference  was  that 
I  did  not  know  at  the  time  that  Aferdov  was  a  thief  :  I  did  not 
even  know  his  name  then,  so  that  at  that  moment  I  might  very 
well  imagine  I  had  made  a  mistake,  and  that  those  three  notes 
were  really  not  in  the  heap  that  had  just  been  paid  me.  I  had 
not  counted  my  gains  at  all,  I  had  simply  gathered  up  the  heaps 
with  my  hands,  and  there  had  been  money  lying  in  front  of 
Aferdov  too,  and  quite  close  to  mine,  but  in  neat  heaps  and 
counted.  Above  all  Aferdov  was  known  here  and  looked  upon 
as  a  wealthy  man  ;  he  was  treated  with  respect :  all  this 
had  an  influence  on  me  and  again  I  did  not  protest.     A  terrible 

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mistake  !     The  whole  bcasuy  incident  was  the  result  of   my 
enthusiasm. 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,  I  don't  remember  for  certain.;  but  I 
really  think  they  are  mine,"  I  brought  out  with  lips  trembling 
with  indignation.    These  words  at  once  aroused  a  murmur. 

"  To  say  things  like  that,  you  ought  to  remember  for  certain, 
but  you've  graciously  announced  yourself  that  you  don't  re- 
member for  certain,*'  Aferdov  observed  with  insufferable 
superciliousness . 

"  Who  is  he  1 "--"  It  can't  be  allowed  !  "  I  heard  several 
exclamations. 

"  That's  not  the  first  time  he  has  done  it ;  there  was  the  same 
little  game  over  a  ten-rouble  note  with  Rechberg  just  now," 
a  mean  little  voice  said  somewhere  near. 

"  That's  enough  !  that's  enough  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  I  am  not 
protesting,  take  it  .  .  .  where's  Prince  .  .  .  where  are  Prince 
Sokolsky  and  Darzan  ?  Have  they  gone  ?  Gentlemen,  did  you 
see  which  way  Prince  Sokolsky  and  Darzan  went  ?  "  And 
gathering  up  all  my  money  at  last,  I  could  not  succeed  in  getting 
some  of  the  half  imperials  into  my  pocket,  and  holding  them  in 
my  hands  I  rushed  to  overtake  Prince  Sergay  and  Darzan.  The 
reader  will  see,  I  think,  that  I  don't  spare  myself,  and  am  recording 
at  this  moment  what  I  was  then,  and  all  my  nastiness,  so  as  to 
explain  the  possibility  of  what  followed. 

Prince  Sergay  and  Darzan  were  going  downstairs,  without 
taking  the  slightest  notice  of  my  shouts,  and  calls  to  them.  I 
had  overtaken  them,  but  I  stopped  for  a  moment  before  the 
hall- porter,  and,  goodness  knows  why,  thrust  three  half  imperials 
into  his  hand  ;  he  gazed  at  me  in  amazement  and  did  not  even 
thank  me.  But  that  was  nothing  to  me,  and  if  Matvey  had  been 
there  I  should  probably  have  pressed  handfuls  of  gold  upon  him  ; 
and  so  indeed  I  believe  I  meant  to  do,  but  as  I  ran  out  on  the 
steps,  I  suddenly  remembered  that  I  had  let  him  go  home  when 
I  arrived.  At  that  moment  Prince  Sergay 's  horse  came  up, 
and  he  got  into  his  sledge. 

'  I  am  coming  with  you,  prince,  and  to  your  flat !  "  I  cried, 
clutching  the  fur  cover  and  throwing  it  open,  to  get  into  the 
empty  seat ;  but  all  at  once  Darzan  skipped  past  me  into  the 
sledge,  and  the  coachman  snatched  the  fur  cover  out  of  my  hands, 
and  tucked  it  round  them 

"  Damn  it  all !  "  I  cried  dumbfoundered ;  it  looked  as  though 
I  had  unbuttoned  the  cover  for  Darzan's  benefit,  like  a  flunkey, 

283 


"  Home  !  "  shouted  Prince  Sergay. 

"  Stop  !  "  I  roared,  clutching  at  the  sledge,  but  the  horse 
started,  and  I  was  sent  rolling  in  the  snow.  I  even  fancied  they 
were  laughing.  Jumping  up  I  took  the  first  sledge  I  came  across, 
and  dashed  after  Prince  Sergay,  urging  on  the  wretched  nag  at 
every  second. 


As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  wretched  beast  crawled  along 
with  unnatural  slowness,  though  I  promised  the  driver  a  whole 
rouble.  The  driver  did  nothing  but  lash  the  beast  to  earn  his 
rouble.  My  heart  was  sinking  :  I  began  trying  to  talk  to  the 
driver,  but  I  could  not  even  articulate  my  words,  and  I  muttered 
something  incoherent.  This  was  my  condition  when  I  ran  up 
to  Prince  Sergay's  !  He  had  only  just  come  back  ;  he  had 
left  Darzan  on  the  way,  and  was  alone.  Pale  and  ill-humoured, 
he  was  pacing  up  and  down  his  study.  I  repeat  again  he  had 
lost  heavily  that  evening.  He  looked  at  me  with  a  sort  of 
preoccupied  wonder. 

"  You  again  !  "  he  brought  out  frowning. 

"  To  settle  up  with  you  for  good,  sir  !  "  I  said  breathlessly. 
"  Row  dared  you  treat  me  like  that !  " 

He  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  If  you  meant  to  drive  with  Darzan  you  might  have  answered 
that  you  were  going  with  him,  but  you  started  your  horse, 
and  I " 

"  Oh  yes,  you  tumbled  into  the  snow,"  he  said  and  laughed 
into  my  face. 

"  An  insult  like  that  can  be  only  answered  with  a  challenge, 
so  to  begin  with  we'll  settle  accounts " 

And  with  a  trembUng  hand  I  began  pulling  out  my  money 
and  laying  it  on  the  sofa,  on  the  marble  table,  and  even  on  an 
open  book,  in  heaps,  in  handfuls,  and  in  roils  of  notes  ;  several 
coins  rolled  on  the  carpet. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you've  won,  it  seem;-  ....  One  can  tell  that  from 
your  tone." 

He  had  never  spoken  to  me  so  insolently  before.  I  was  very 
pale. 

"  Here  ...  I  don't  know  how  much  ...  it  must  be  counted. 
I  owe  you  three  thousand  .  .  ,  or  how  much  ?  .  .  .  More  or 
less  ?  " 

284 


'  I  am  not  pressing  you  to  pay,  I  believe." 

"  No,  it's  I  want  to  pay,  and  you  ought  to  know  why.  I 
know  that  in  that  roll  there's  a  thousand  roubles,  here  !  "  And 
I  began  with  trembling  fingers  to  count  the  money,  but  gave  it 
up.  "  It  doesn't  matter,  I  know  it's  a  thousand.  Well,  that 
thousand  I  will  keep  for  myself,  but  all  the  rest,  all  these  heaps, 
t-ake  for  what  I  owe  you,  for  part  of  what  I  owe  you  :  I  think 
there's  as  much  as  two  thousand  or  may  be  more  !  " 

"  But  you  are  keeping  a  thousand  for  yourself  then  ?  "  said 
Prince  Sergay  with  a  grin. 

"  Do  you  want  it  ?  In  that  case  ...  I  was  meaning  .  .  . 
I  was  thinking  you  didn't  wish  it  .  .  .  but  if  you  want  it  here 
itis.  .  .  ." 

"  No,  you  need  not,"  he  said  turning  away  from  me  contemp- 
tuously, and  beginning  to  pace  up  and  down  again. 

"  And  what  the  devil's  put  it  into  your  head  to  want  to  pay 
it  back  ?  "  he  said,  tm-ning  to  me  suddenly,  with  a  horrible 
challenge  in  his  face. 

"I'm  paying  it  back  to  be  free  to  insist  on  your  giving  me 
satisfaction  !  "  I  vociferated. 

"  Go  to  the  devil  with  your  everlasting  words  and  gesticula- 
tions !  "  he  stamped  at  me  suddenly,  as  though  in  a  frenzy.  "  I 
have  been  wanting  to  get  rid  of  you  both  for  ages  ;  you  and  your 
Versilov." 

*'  You've  gone  out  of  your  mind  !  "  I  shouted  and  indeed  it 
did  look  like  it. 

"  You've  worried  me  to  death  with  your  high-sounding 
phrases,  and  never  anything  but  phrases,  phrases,  phrases  1 
Of  honour  for  instance !  Tfoo  !  I've  been  wanting  to  have 
done  with  you  for  a  long  time.  ...  I  am  glad,  glad,  that  the 
minute  has  come.  I  considered  myself  bound,  and  blushed  that 
I  was  forced  to  receive  you  .  .  .  both  !  But  now  I  don't 
consider  myself  bound  in  any  way,  in  any  way,  let  me  tell  you  ! 
Your  Versilov  mduced  me  to  attack  Madame  Ahmakov  and 
to  cast  aspersions  on  her.  .  .  .  Don't  dare  to  talk  of  honour 
to  me  after  that.  For  you  are  dishonourable  people  .  .  .  both 
of  you,  both  of  you  ;  I  wonder  you  weren't  ashamed  to  take 
my  money  !  " 

There  was  a  darkness  before  my  eyes. 

"I  borrowed  from  you  as  a  comrade,"  I  began,  speaking  with  a 
dreadful  quietness.  "  You  offered  it  me  yourself,  and  I  believed 
in  your  affection.  .  .  ." 

285 


"  I  am  not  your  comrade  !  That's  not  why  I  have  given  you 
money,  you  know  why  it  is." 

"  I  borrowed  on  account  of  what  you  owed  Versilov  ;  of  course 
it  was  stupid,  but  I  .  .  ." 

"  You  could  not  borrow  on  Versilov's  account  without  his 
permission  .  .  .  and  I  could  not  have  given  you  his  money  without 
his  permission.  I  gave  you  my  own  money,  and  you  knew  it ; 
knew  it  and  took  it ;  and  I  allowed  this  hateful  farce  to  go  on  in 
my  house  !  " 

'*  What  did  I  know  ?  What  farce !  Why  did  you  give  it 
to  me  ?  " 

''  Pour  vos  beaux  yeuz,  топ  cousin ! "  he  said,  laughing 
straight  in  my  face. 

"  Go  to  hell !  "  I  cried.  Ч  Take  it  all,  here's  the  other  thousand 
too  !     Now  we  are  quits,  and  to-morrow.  ..." 

And  I  flung  at  him  the  roll  of  hundred  rouble  notes  I  had 
meant  to  keep  to  live  upon.  The  notes  hit  him  in  the  waistcoat 
and  flopped  on  the  floor. 

With  three  rapid  strides  he  stepped  close  up  to  me  : 

"  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me,"  he  said  savagely  articulating  his 
words  as  it  were  syllable  by  syllable  :  "  that  all  this  time  you've 
been  taking  my  money  you  did  not  know  your  sister  was  with 
child  by  me  ?  " 

"  What  !  what !  "  I  screamed,  and  suddenly  my  legs  gave 
way  under  me  and  I  sank  helplessly  on  the  sofa.  He  told  me 
himself  afterwards  that  I  literally  turned  as  white  as  a  hand- 
kerchief. I  was  stunned.  I  remember  we  still  stared  into  each 
other's  faces  in  silence.  A  look  of  dismay  passed  over  his  face  ; 
he  suddenly  bent  down,  took  me  by  the  shoulder  and  began 
supporting  me.  I  distinctly  remember  his  set  smile,  in  which 
there  was  incredulity  and  wonder.  Yes,  he  had  never  dreamed 
of  his  words  having  such  an  effect,  for  he  was  absolutely  con- 
vinced of  my  knowledge. 

It  ended  in  my  fainting,  but  only  for  a  moment :  I  came  to 
myself  ;  I  got  on  my  feet,  gazed  at  him  and  reflected — and 
suddenly  the  whole  truth  dawned  upon  my  mind  which  had 
been  so  slow  to  awaken  !  If  some  one  had  told  me  of  it  before 
and  asked  me  what  I  should  have  done  at  such  a  moment,  I 
should  no  doubt  have  answered  that  I  should  have  torn  him  in 
pieces.  But  what  happened  was  quite  different  and  quite 
independent  of  my  will  :  I  suddenly  covered  my  face  with  both 
hands  and  began  sobbing  bitterly.     It  happened  of  itself.     All 

286 


at  once  the  child  came  out  again  in  the  young  man.  It  seemed 
that  fully  half  of  my  soul  was  still  a  child's.  I  fell  on  the  sofa 
and  sobbed  out,  "Liza!  Liza!  Poor  unhappy  girl!"  Prince 
Sergay  was  completely  convinced  all  at  once. 

"  Good  God,  how  unjust  I've  been  to  you  !  "  he  cried  in  deep 
distress.  "  How  abominably  I've  misjudged  you  in  my  sus- 
piciousness. .  .  .  Forgive  me,  Arkady  Makarovitch  !  " 

I  suddenly  jumped  up,  tried  to  say  something  to  him,  stood 
facing  him,  but  said  nothing,  and  ran  out  of  the  room  and  out 
of  the  flat.  I  dragged  myself  home  on  foot,  and  don't  know 
how  I  got  there.  I  threw  myself  on  the  bed  in  the  dark,  buried 
my  face  in  the  pillow  and  thought  and  thought.  At  such 
moments  orderly  and  consecutive  thought  is  never  possible ; 
my  brain  and  imagination  seemed  torn  to  shreds,  and  I  re- 
member I  began  dreaming  about  something  utterly  irrelevant, 
I  don't  know  what.  My  grief  and  trouble  came  back  to  my  mind 
suddenly  with  an  ache  of  anguish,  and  I  wrung  my  hands  again 
and  exclaimed  :  "  Liza,  Liza  !  "  and  began  crying  again.  I 
don't  remember  how  I  fell  asleep,  but  I  slept  sweetly  and  soundly. 


CHAPTER  VII 

1 

I  WAKED  up  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  instantly  locked  my 
door,  sat  down  by  the  window  and  began  thinking.  So  I  sat  till 
ten  o'clock.  The  servant  knocked  at  my  door  twice,  but  I  sent 
her  away.  At  last  at  eleven  o'clock  there  was  a  knock  again. 
I  was  just  going  to  shout  to  the  servant  again,  but  it  was  Liza. 
The  servant  came  in  with  her,  brought  me  in  some  coffee,  and 
prepared  to  light  the  stove.  It  was  impossible  to  get  rid  of  the 
servant,  and  all  the  time  Fekla  was  arranging  the  wood,  and 
blowing  up  the  fire,  I  strode  up  and  down  my  little  room,  not 
beginning  to  talk  to  Liza,  and  even  trying  not  to  look  at  her. 
The  servant,  as  though  on  purpose,  was  inexpressibly  slow  in  her 
movements  as  servants  always  are  when  they  notice  they  are 
preventing  people  from  talking.  Liza  sat  on  the  chair  by  the 
window  and  watched  me. 

"  Your  coffee  will  be  cold,"  she  said  suddenly. 

I  looked  at  her  :  not  a  trace  of  embarrassment,  perfect  tran- 
quillity, and  even  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

287 


"  Such  are  women,"  I  thought,  and  could  not  help  shrugging 
my  shoulders.  At  last  the  servant  had  finished  lighting  the  stove 
and  was  about  to  tidy  the  room,  but  I  turned  her  out  angrily, 
and  at  last  locked  the  door. 

"  Tell  me,  please,  why  have  you  locked  the  door  again  ?  " 
Liza  asked. 

I  stood  before  her. 

"  Liza,  I  never  could  have  imagined  you  would  deceive  me 
like  this  !  "  I  exclaimed  suddenly,  though  I  had  never  thought 
of  beginning  like  that,  and  instead  of  being  moved  to  tears,  an 
angry  feeling  which  was  quite  unexpected  stabbed  me  to  the 
heart.  Liza  flushed ;  she  did  not  turn  away,  however,  but  still 
k)oked  straight  in  my  face. 

"  Wait,  Liza,  wait,  oh  how  stupid  I've  been  !  But  was  I 
stupid  ?  I  had  no  hint  of  it  till  everything  came  together  yester- 
day, and  from  what  could  I  have  guessed  it  before  ?  From  your 
going  toMme.  Stolbyeev's  andtothat  .  .  .  Darya  Onisimovna  1 
But  I  looked  upon  you  as  the  sun,  Liza,  and  how  could  I  dream 
of  such  a  thing  ?  Do  you  remember  how  I  met  you  that  day 
two  months  ago,  at  his  flat,  and  how  we  walked  together  in  the 
sunshine  and  rejoiced.  .  .  .  Had  it  happened  then  ?     Had  it  ?  " 

She  answered  by  nodding  her  head. 

"  So  you  were  deceiving  me  even  then  !  It  was  not  my 
stupidity,  Liza,  it  was  my  egoism,  more  than  stupidity,  the  egoism 
of  my  heart  and  .  .  .  maybe  my  conviction  of  your  holiness. 
Oh  !  I  have  always  been  convinced  that  you  were  all  infinitely 
above  me  and — now  this  !  I  had  not  time  yesterday  in  one 
day  to  realize  in  spite  of  all  the  hints.  .  .  .  And  besides  I  was 
taken  up  with  something  very  different  yesterday  !  " 

At  that  point  I  suddenly  thought  of  Katerina  Nikolaevna, 
and  something  stabbed  me  to  the  heart  like  a  pin,  and  I  flushed 
crimson.  It  was  natural  that  I  could  not  be  kind  at  that 
moment. 

"  But  what  are  you  justifying  yourself  for  ?  You  seem  to 
be  in  a  hurry  to  defend  yourself,  Arkady,  what  for  ?  "  Liza  asked 
softly  and  gently,  though  her  voice  was  firm  and  confident. 

"  What  for  ?  What  am  I  to  do  now  ?  if  it  were  nothing  but 
that  question  !  And  you  ask  what  for  ?  I  don't  know  how  to 
act !  I  don't  know  how  brothers  do  act  in  such  cases.  ...  I 
know  they  go  with  pistols  in  their  hands  and  force  them  to 
marry.  ...  I  will  behave  as  a  man  of  honour  ought !  Only 
I  don't  know  how  a  man  of  honour  ought  to  behave.  .  ,  .  Why  ? 

288 


Because  we  are  not  gentlefolk,  and  he's  a  prince  and  has  to 
think  of  his  career  ;  he  won't  listen  to  honest  people  like  us. 
We  are  not  even  brother  and  sister,  but  nondescript  illegitimate 
children  of  a  house-serf  without  a  surname  ;  and  princes  don't 
marry  house-serfs.  Oh,  it's  nauseating  !  And  what's  more,  you 
sit  now  and  wonder  at  me." 

"  I  believe  that  you  are  very  much  distressed,"  said  Liza 
flushing  again,  "  but  you  are  in  too  great  a  hurry,  and  are 
distressing  yourself." 

"  Too  great  a  hurry  ?  Why,  do  you  think  I've  not  been  slow 
enough  !  Is  it  for  you,  Liza,  to  say  that  to  me  1  "  I  cried,  com- 
pletely carried  away  by  indignation  at  last.  "  And  what  shame 
I've  endured,  and  how  that  prince  must  despise  me  1  It's  all 
clear  to  me  now,  and  I  can  see  it  all  like  a  picture  :  he  quite 
imagined  that  I  had  guessed  long  ago  what  his  relation  was 
to  you,  but  that  I  held  my  tongue  or  even  turned  up  my  nose 
while  I  bragged  of  '  my  honour ' — that's  what  he  may  well 
have  thought  of  me  !  And  that  I  have  been  taking  his  money 
for  my  sister,  for  my  sister's  shame  !  It  was  that  he  loathed  so, 
and  I  think  he  was  quite  right,  too  ;  to  have  every  day  to 
welcome  a  scoimdrel  because  he  was  her  brother,  and  then  to 
talk  of  honour  ...  it  would  turn  any  heart  to  stone,  even  his  ! 
And  you  allowed  it  all,  you  did  not  warn  me  !  He  despised  me 
so  utterly  that  he  talked  of  me  to  Stebelkov,  and  told  me  yester- 
day that  he  longed  to  get  rid  of  us  both,  Versilov  and  me.  And 
Stebelkov  too  !  '  Anna  Andreyevna  is  as  much  your  sister  as 
Lizaveta  Makarovna,'  and  then  he  shouted  after  me,  '  My 
money's  better  than  his.'  And  I,  I  insolently  lolled  on  his  sofa, 
and  forced  myself  on  his  acquaintances  as  though  I  were  an  equal, 
damn  them  !  And  you  allowed  all  that !  Most  likely  Darzan 
knows  by  now,  judging,  at  least,  by  his  tone  yesterday  evening. 
,  .  .  Everyone,  everyone  knew  it  except  me  !  " 

"  No  one  knows  anji-hing,  he  has  not  told  any  one  of  his 
acquaintances,  and  he  could  not,^^  Liza  added.  "  And  about 
Stebelkov,  all  I  know  is  that  Stebelkov  is  worrying  him,  and 
that  it  could  only  have  been  a  guess  on  Stebelkov's  part  any- 
way. ...  I  have  talked  to  him  about  you  several  times,  and  he 
fully  believed  me  that  you  know  nothing,  and  I  can't  understand 
how  this  happened  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  I  paid  him  all  I  owed  him  yesterday,  anyway,  and  that's 
a  load  off  my  heart !  Liza,  does  mother  know  i  Of  course  she 
does  ;    why,  yesterday  she  stood  up  for  you  against  me.  ,  .  , 

289  » 


Oh,  Liza  !  Is  it  possible  that  in  your  heart  of  hearts  you  think 
yourself  absolutely  right,  that  you  really  don't  blame  yourself 
in  the  least  ?  I  don't  know  how  these  things  are  considered 
nowadays,  and  what  are  your  ideas,  I  mean  as  regards  me, 
your  mother,  your  brother,  your  father.  .  .  .  Does  Versilov 
know  ?  " 

"  Mother  has  told  him  nothing ;  he  does  not  ask  questions, 
most  likely  he  does  not  want  to  ask." 

"  He  knows,  but  does  not  want  to  know,  that's  it,  it's  like  him  ! 
Well,  you  may  laugh  at  a  brother,  a  stupid  brother,  when  he 
talks  of  pistols,  but  your  mother  !  Surely  you  must  have  thought, 
Liza,  that  it's  a  reproach  to  mother  ?  I  have  been  tortured 
by  that  idea  all  night ;  mother's  first  thought  now  лу111  be : 
'  it's  because  I  did  wrong,  and  the  daughter  takes  after  the 
mother  ! '  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  cruel  and  spiteful  thing  to  say  !  "  cried  Liza, 
while  the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes  ;  she  got  up  and  walked 
rapidly  towards  the  door. 

"  Stay,  stay  !  "  I  caught  her  in  my  arms,  made  her  sit  down 
again,  and  sat  down  beside  her,  still  keeping  my  arm  round 
her. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  like  this  when  I  came  here,  and  that 
you  would  insist  on  my  blaming  myself.  Very  well,  I  do  blame 
myself.  It  was  only  through  pride  I  was  silent  just  now,  and 
did  not  say  so,  I  am  much  sorrier  for  you  and  mother  than  I  am 
for  myself.  .  .  ," 

She  could  not  go  on,  and  suddenly  began  crying  bitterly. 

"  Don't,  Liza,  you  mustn't,  I  don't  want  anything.  I  can't 
judge  you.  Liza,  what  does  mother  say  ?  Tell  me,  has  she 
known  long  ?  " 

"  I  believe  she  has  ;  but  I  only  told  her  a  little  while  ago, 
when  this  happened,"  she  said  softly,  dropping  her  eyes. 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  said,  '  bear  it,'  "  Liza  said  still  more  softly. 

"Ah,  Liza,  yes,  'bear  it!'  Don't  do  anjrthing  to  yourself, 
God  keep  you  !  " 

"  I  am  not  going  to,"  she  answered  firmly,  and  she  raised  her 
eyes  and  looked  at  me.  "Don't  be  afraid,"  she  added,  "it's  not 
at  all  like  that." 

"  Liza,  darling,  all  I  can  see  is  that  I  know  nothing  about  it, 
but  I'v«^  only  found  out  now  how  much  I  love  you.  There's 
only  one  thing  Г  can't  understand,  Liza ;   it's  all  clear  to  me, 

290 


but  there's  one  thing  I  can't  understand  at  all :  what  made  you 
love  him  ?  How  could  you  love  a  man  like  that  ?  That's  the 
question." 

"  And  I  suppose  you've  been  worrying  yourself  all  night  about 
that  too  ?  "  said  Liza,  with  a  gentle  smile. 

"  Stay,  Liza,  that's  a  stupid  question,  and  you  are  laughing  ; 
laugh  away,  but  one  can't  help  being  surprised,  you  know  ;  you 
and  he,  you  are  such  opposite  extremes  !  I  have  studied  him  : 
he's  gloomy,  suspicious  ;  perhaps  he  is  very  good-hearted,  he  may 
be,  but  on  the  other  hand,  he  is  above  all  extremely  inclined  to 
see  evil  in  everything  (though  in  that  he  is  exactly  like  me). 
He  has  a  passionate  appreciation  of  what's  noble,  that  I  admit, 
but  I  fancy  it's  only  in  his  ideal.  Oh,  he  is  apt  to  feel  remorse, 
he  has  been  all  his  life  continually  cursing  himself,  and  repenting, 
but  he  will  never  reform  ;  that'slikeme,  too,  perhaps.  Thousands 
of  prejudices  and  false  ideas  and  no  real  ideas  at  all.  He  is 
always  striving  after  something  heroic  and  spoiling  it  all  over 
trifles.  Forgive  me,  Liza,  I'm  a  fool  though  ;  I  say  this  and 
wound  you  and  I  know  it  ;   I  understand  it.  .  .  ." 

"  It  would  be  a  true  portrait,"  smiled  Liza,  "  but  you  are  too 
bitter  against  him  on  my  account,  and  that's  why  nothing  you 
say  is  true.  From  the  very  beginning  he  was  distrustful  with 
you,  and  you  could  not  see  him  as  he  is,  but  with  me,  even  at 
Luga.  .  .  .  He  has  had  no  eyes  for  anyone  but  me,  ever  since 
those  days  at  Luga.  Yes,  he  is  suspicious  and  morbid,  and  but  for 
me  he  would  have  gone  out  of  his  mind  ;  and  if  he  gives  me  up, 
he  will  go  out  of  his  mind,  or  shoot  himself.  I  believe  he  has 
realized  that  and  knows  it,"  Liza  added  dreamily  as  though  to 
herself.  "  Yes,  he  is  weak  continually,  but  such  weak  people 
are  capable  at  times  of  acting  very  strongly.  .  .  .  How  strangely 
you  talked  about  a  pistol,  Arkady  ;  nothing  of  that  sort  is  wanted 
and  I  know  what  will  happen.  It's  not  my  going  after  him,  it's 
his  coming  after  me.  Mother  cries  and  says  that  if  I  marry  him 
I  shall  be  imhappy,  that  he  will  cease  to  love  me.  I  don't 
believe  that ;  unhappy,  perhaps,  I  shall  be,  but  he  won't  cease 
to  love  me.  That's  not  why  I  have  refused  my  consent  all 
along,  it's  for  another  reason.  For  the  last  two  months  I've 
refused,  but  to-day  I  told  him  '  yes,  I  will  marry  you.'  Arkasha, 
do  you  know  yesterday  "  (her  eyes  shone  and  she  threw  her  arms 
round  my  neck),  "he  went  to  Anna  Andreyevna's  and  told  her 
with  absolute  frankness  that  he  could  not  love  her  .  .  .  ?  Yes, 
he  had  a  complete  explanation  with  her,  and  that  idea's  at  an 

291 


end  !  He  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  project.  It  was  all  Prince 
Nikolay  Ivanovitch's  notion,  and  it  was  pressed  upon  him  by 
those  tormentors,  Stebelkov  and  some  one  else.  .  .  .  And  to- 
day for  that  I've  said  '  yes.^  Dear  Arkady,  he  is  very  anxious 
to  see  you,  and  don't  be  offended  because  of  what  happened 
yesterday  :  he's  not  quite  well  this  morning,  and  will  be  at  home 
all  day.  He's  really  unwell,  Arkady  ;  don't  think  it's  an  excuse. 
He  has  sent  me  on  purpose,  and  told  me  to  say  that  he  '  needs  ' 
you,  that  he  has  a  great  deal  he  must  tell  you,  and  that  it  would 
be  awkward  to  say  it  here,  in  your  lodging.  Well,  good-bye  ! 
Oh,  Arkady,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  it,  as  I  was  coming  here  I 
was  awfully  afraid  that  you  would  not  love  me  any  more.  I 
kept  crossing  myself  on  the  way,  and  you've  been  so  good  and 
kind  !  I  shall  never  forget  it !  I  am  going  to  mother.  And 
you  try  and  like  him  a  little,  won't  you  ?  " 

I  embraced  her  warmly,  and  told  her : 

"  I  believe,  Liza,  you're  a  strong  character.  And  I  believe 
that  it's  not  you  who  are  going  after  him,  but  he  who  is  going 
after  you,  only  .  .  ." 

"Only,  what  made  you  love  him?  'that's  the  question!'" 
Liza  put  in  with  her  old  mischievous  laugh,  pronouncing  the 
words  exactly  as  I  had  done  "  that's  the  question !  "  And  as  she 
said  it  she  lifted  her  forefinger  exactly  as  I  do.  We  kissed  at 
parting,  but  when  she  had  gone  my  heart  began  to  ache  again. 


I  note  merely  for  myself  there  were  moments  after  Liza  had 
gone  when  a  perfect  host  of  the  most  unexpected  ideas  rushed 
into  my  mind,  and  I  was  actually  quite  pleased  with  them. 

"  Well,  why  should  I  bother,"  I  thought ;  "  what  is  it  to  me  ? 
It's  the  same  with  every  one  or  nearly  so.  What  of  it  if  it  has 
happened  to  Liza  I  Am  I  boimd  to  save  the  honour  of  the 
family  ?  " 

I  mention  all  these  details  to  show  how  far  I  was  from  a  sound 
understanding  of  the  difference  between  good  and  evil.  It  was 
only  feeling  saved  me  :  I  knew  that  Liza  was  unhappy,  that  mother 
was  unhappy,  and  I  knew  this  by  my  feeling  when  I  thought  of 
them,  and  so  I  felt  that  what  had  happened  must  be  wrong. 

Now  I  may  mention  beforehand  that  from  that  day,  right  up 
to  the  catastrophe  of  my  illness,  events  followed  one  another 

292 


with  such  rapidity  that  recalling  them  now  I  feel  surprised 
myself  that  I  was  able  to  stand  up  against  them,  crushing  as 
they  were.  They  clouded  my  mind,  and  even  my  feelings,  and 
if  in  the  end  I  had  been  overwhelmed  by  them,  and  had  com- 
mitted a  crime  (I  was  within  an  ace  of  it),  the  jury  might  well 
have  acquitted  me.  But  I  will  try  to  describe  it  all  in  the  exact 
order  of  events,  though  I  forewarn  the  reader  that  there  was 
little  order  in  my  thoughts  at  that  time.  Events  came  rushing 
on  me  like  the  wind,  and  my  thoughts  whirled  before  them  like 
the  dead  leaves  in  autumn.  Since  I  was  entirely  made  up  of  other 
people's  ideas,  where  could  I  find  principles  of  my  own  when 
they  were  needed  to  f oi  m  independent  decisions  ?  I  had  no 
guide  at  all. 

I  decided  to  go  to  see  Prince  Sergay  that  evening,  that  we  might 
be  perfectly  free  to  talk  things  over,  and  he  would  be  at  home  till 
evening.  But  when  it  was  getting  dark  I  received  again  a  note 
by  post,  a  note  from  Stebelkov;  it  consisted  of  three  lines,  con- 
taining an  urgent  and  most  persuasive  request  that  I  would  call 
on  him  next  morning  at  eleven  o'clock  on  "  most  important 
business,  and  you  will  see  for  yourself  that  it  is  business." 
Thinking  it  over  I  resolved  to  be  guided  by  circumstances,  as 
there  was  plenty  of  time  to  decide  before  to-morrow. 

It  was  already  eight  o'clock ;  I  should  have  gone  out  much 
earUer,  but  I  kept  expecting  Versilov  ;  I  was  longing  to  express 
myself  to  him,  and  my  heart  was  burning.  But  Versilov  was  not 
coming  and  did  not  come.  It  was  out  of  the  question  for  me  to 
go  to  see  my  mother  and  Liza  for  a  time,  and  besides  I  had  a  feel- 
ing that  Versilov  certainly  would  not  be  there  all  day.  I  went 
on  foot,  and  it  occurred  to  me  on  the  way  to  look  in  at  the 
restaurant  on  the  canal  side  where  we  had  been  the  day  before. 
Sure  enough,  Versilov  was  sitting  there  in  the  same  place. 

"  I  thought  you  would  come  here,"  he  said,  smiling  strangely 
and  looking  strangely  at  me.  His  smile  was  an  unpleasant  one. 
Such  as  I  had  not  seen  on  his  face  for  a  long  time. 

I  sat  down  at  the  httle  table  and  told  him  in  full  detail  about 
the  prince  and  Liza,  and  my  scene  with  Prince  Sergay  the 
evening  before  ;  I  did  not  forget  to  mention  how  I  had  won  at 
roulette.  He  listened  very  attentively,  and  questioned  me  as 
to  Prince  Sergay's  intention  to  marry  Liza. 

"  Pauvre  enfant,  she  won't  gain  much  by  that  perhaps.  But 
very  likely  it  won't  come  off  ,  .  ,  though  he  is  capable  of 
it.  .  .  ." 

293 


"  Tell  me,  as  a  friend  :  you  knew  it,  I  suppose,  had  an  inkling 
of  it  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  what  could  I  do  in  the  matter  ?  It's  all  a 
question  of  another  person's  conscience  and  of  feeling,  even  though 
only  on  the  part  of  that  poor  girl.  I  tell  you  again  ;  I  meddled 
enough  at  one  time  with  other  people's  consciences,  a  most 
imsuitable  practice  !  I  don't  refuse  to  help  in  misfortune  so  far 
as  I'm  able,  and  if  I  understand  the  position  myself.  And  you, 
my  dear  boy,  did  you  really  suspect  nothing  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  But  how  could  you,"  I  cried,  flaring  up,  "  how  could  you,  if 
you'd  a  spark  of  suspicion  that  I  knew  of  Liza's  position,  and  saw 
that  I  was  taking  money  at  the  same  time  from  Prince  Sergay, 
how  could  you  speak  to  me,  sit  with  me,  hold  out  your  hand  to 
me,  when  you  must  have  looked  on  me  as  a  scovmdrel,  for  I 
bet  anything  you  suspected  I  knew  all  about  it  and  borrowed 
money  from  Prince  Sergay  knowingly  !  " 

"  Again,  it's  a  question  of  conscience,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 
"  And  how  do  you  know,"  he  added  distinctly,  with  imaccount- 
able  emotion,  "  how  do  you  know  I  wasn't  afraid,  as  you  were 
j'esterday,  that  I  might  lose  my  '  ideal '  and  find  a  worthless 
scamp  instead  of  my  impulsive,  straightforward  boy  ?  I  dreaded 
the  minute  and  put  it  off.  Why  not  instead  of  indolence  or 
duplicity  imagine  something  more  innocent  in  me,  stupid,  per- 
haps, but  more  honourable,  qtue  diable  !  I  am  only  too  often 
stupid,  without  being  honourable.  What  good  would  you  have 
been  to  me  if  you  had  had  such  propensities  ?  To  persuade 
and  try  to  reform  in  that  case  would  be  degrading  ;  you  would 
have  lost  every  sort  of  value  in  my  eyes  even  if  you  were 
reformed.  .  .  ." 

"  And  Liza  ?     Are  you  sorry  for  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  her,  my  dear.  What  makes  you  think 
I  am  so  unfeeling.  ...  On  the  contrary,  I  will  try  my  very 
utmost.  .  .  .  And  you.     What  of  your  affair  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  my  affair  ;  I  have  no  affairs  of  my  own  now. 
Tell  me,  why  do  you  doubt  that  he'll  marry  her  1  He  was  at 
Anna  Andreyevena's  yesterday  and  positively  refused  .  .  . 
that  is  disowned  the  fooUsh  idea  .  .  .  that  originated  with 
Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch  ...  of  making  a  match  between  them. 
He  disowned  it  absolutely." 

"  Yes  ?  When  was  that  ?  And  from  whom  did  you  hear  it  1 " 
he  inquired  with  interest.     I  told  him  all  I  knew. 

"  H'm  .  .  .  1"  he  pronounced  as  it  were  dreamily  and  ponder- 

294 


ing,  "  then  it  must  have  happened  just  about  an  hour  .  .  • 
before  another  explanation.  H'm  .  .  ,  !  oh,  well,  of  course, 
such  an  interview  may  have  taken  place  between  them  .  .  . 
although  I  know  that  nothing  was  said  or  done  either  on  his 
side  or  on  hers  .  .  .  though,  of  course,  a  couple  of  words  woxild 
be  enough  for  such  an  explanation.  But  I  tell  you  what,  it's 
strange,"  he  laughed  suddenly  ;  "  I  shall  certainly  interest  you 
directly  with  an  extraordinary  piece  of  news  ;  if  your  prince  did 
make  his  offer  yesterday  to  Anna  Andreyevna  (and,  suspecting 
about  Liza,  I  should  have  done  my  utmost  to  oppose  his  suit, 
entre  nous  soil  dit),  Anna  Andreyevna  would  in  any  case  have 
refused  him.  I  believe  you  are  very  fond  of  Anna  Andreyevna, 
you  respect  and  esteem  her.  That's  very  nice  on  your  part,  and 
so  you  will  probably  rejoice  on  her  accoimt ;  she  is  engaged  to 
be  married,  my  dear  boy,  and  judging  from  her  character  1 
believe  she  really  will  get  married,  while  I — well,  I  give  her  my 
blessing,  of  com-se," 

"  Going  to  be  married  1  To  whom  1  "  I  cried,  greatly  as- 
tonished. 

"  Ah,  guess !  I  won't  torment  you ;  to  Prince  Nikolay 
Ivanovitch,  to  your  dear  old  man." 

I  gazed  at  him  with  open  eyes. 

"  She  must  have  been  cherishing  the  idea  for  a  long  time  ; 
and  no  doubt  worked  it  out  artistically  in  all  its  aspects," 
he  went  on  languidly,  dropping  out  his  words  one  by  one. 
*'  I  imagine  this  was  arranged  just  an  boiu*  after  Prince 
Sergay's  visit.  You  see  how  inappropriate  was  his  dashing  in  ! 
She  simply  went  to  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanovitch  and  made  him 
a  proposal." 

"  What,  'made  him  a  proposal'  ?  You  mean  he  made  her 
a  proposal  ?  " 

"  Oh,  how  could  he  !  She  did,  she  herself,  tJiough  to  be  sure 
he  is  perfectly  ecstatic.  They  say  he  is  simply  sitting  now 
wondering  how  it  wa^  the  idea  never  occurred  to  him.  I  have 
heard  he  has  even  taken  to  his  bed  .  .  .  from  sheer  ecstasy,  no 
doubt." 

"  Listen,  you  are  talking  so  ironically  .  .  .  I  can  hardly  believe 
it.    And  how  could  she  propose  to  him  ?    What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear  boy,  that  I  am  genuinely  delighted," 
he  answered,  suddenly  assuming  a  wonderfully  serious  air  ;  "  he 
is  old,  of  course,  but  by  every  law  and  custom  he  can  get  married  ; 
as  for  her — again  it's  a  matter  of  another  person's  conscience, 

295 


as  I've  told  you  already,  my  dear  boy.  However,  she  is  quite 
competent  to  have  her  own  views  and  make  her  own  decision. 
But  the  precise  details  and  the  words  in  which  she  expressed 
herself  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  give  you,  my  dear  boy.  But  no 
doubt  she  was  equal  to  doing  it,  in  a  way  which  neither  you  nor 
I  would  have  imagined.  The  best  of  it  all  is  that  there's  nothing 
scandalous  in  it,  it's  all  tres  comme  ilfaut  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
Of  course,  it's  quite  evident  that  she  was  eager  for  a  good  position 
in  the  world,  but  you  know  she  deserves  it.  All  this,  my  dear  boy, 
is  an  entirely  worldly  matter.  And  no  doubt  she  made  her 
proposal  in  a  magnificent  and  artistic  style.  It's  an  austere 
type,  my  dear  boy,  '  the  girl-nun,'  as  you  once  described  her  ; 
'  the  cool  young  lady '  has  been  my  name  for  her  a  long  time 
past.  She  has  almost  been  brought  up  by  him,  you  know,  and 
has  seen  more  than  one  instance  of  his  kindly  feeling  towards 
her.  She  assured  me  some  time  ago  that  she  had  '  such  a  respect 
for  him  and  such  a  high  opinion  of  him,  such  feeling  for  him 
and  such  sympathy  with  him,'  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  so  that  I  was 
to  some  extent  prepared.  I  was  informed  of  all  this  this  morning 
in  her  name  and  at  her  request  by  my  son,  her  brother  Audrey 
Andreyevitch,  whom  I  believe  you  don't  know,  and  whom  I 
see  regularly  twice  a  year.  He  respectfully  approves  of  the  step 
she  has  taken.'* 

"  Then  it  is  pubUc  already  ?     Good  heavens,  I  am  amazed  !  " 

"  No,  it's  certainly  not  public  yet,  not  for  some  time.  ...  I 
don't  know  ...  I  am  altogether  out  of  it,  in  fact.  But  it's  all 
true." 

"  But  now  Katerina  Nikolaevna.  .  .  .  What  do  you  think  ? 
it  won't  suit  Biiring's  tastes,  will  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  .  .  .  actually  that  he  will  dislike  it ;  but  you 
may  be  sure  that  on  that  side  Anna  Andreyevna  is  a  highly 
respectable  person.  But  what  a  girl  she  is  !  Yesterday  morn- 
ing, immediately  before  this,  she  inquired  of  me  '  whether  I 
were  in  love  with  the  widow  Ahmakov  ?  '  Do  you  remember 
I  told  you  of  it  yesterday  with  surprise  ;  it  would  have  been 
impossible  for  her  to  marry  the  father  if  I  had  married  the 
daughter  !     Do  you  understand  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  I  cried,  "  but  could  Anna  Andreyeyna  really 
have  imagined  .  .  .  that  you  could  possibly  want  to  marry 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  ?  " 

"  Evidently  she  could,  my  dear  boy,  but,  however  .  .  .  but, 
however,  I  beheve  it's  time  for  you  to  go  where  you  were  going. 

296 


My  head  aches  all  the  time,  you  know.  I'll  tell  them  to  play 
Lucia.  I  love  the  solemnity  of  its  dreariness,  but  I've  told  you 
that  already  ...  I  repeat  myself  unpardonably.  .  .  .  Per- 
haps I'll  go  away  from  here  though.  I  love  you,  my  dear  boy, 
but  good-bye  ;  whenever  I  have  a  headache  or  toothache  I 
thirst  for  solitude." 

A  line  of  suffering  came  into  his  face  ;  I  believe  now  he  really 
was  suffering  with  his  head,  his  head  particularly.  .  .  . 
"  Till  to-morrow,"  I  said. 

"  Why  '  till  to-morrow,'  and  what  is  to  happen  to-morrow  ?  " 
he  said  with  a  wry  smile. 

"  I  shall  go  to  see  you,  or  you  come  to  see  me." 
"  No,  I  shan't  come  to  you,  but  you'll  come  running  to  me. . . ." 
There  was  something  quite  malevolent  in  his  face,  but  I  had 
no  thoughts  to  spare  for  him  ;  what  an  event  1 


Prince  Sergay  was  really  unwell,  and  was  sitting  alone  with  his 
head  wrapped  in  a  wet  towel.  He  was  very  anxious  to  see  me  ; 
but  he  had  not  only  a  headache,  he  seemed  to  be  aching  morally 
all  over.  To  anticipate  events  again  ;  all  that  latter  time,  right 
up  to  the  catastrophe,  it  was  somehow  my  fate  to  meet  with 
people  who  were  one  after  another  so  excited  that  they  were  all 
almost  mad,  so  that  I  couldn't  help  being  infected  with  the  same 
malady  myself.  I  came,  I  must  confess,  with  evil  feelings  in  my 
heart,  and  I  was  horribly  ashamed,  too,  of  having  cried  before 
him  the  previous  night.  And  anyway  Liza  and  he  had  so 
clearly  succeeded  in  deceiving  me  that  I  could  not  help  seeing 
myself  as  a  fool.  In  short,  my  heart  was  vibrating  on  false 
notes  as  I  went  in.  But  all  this  affectation  and  fake  feeling 
vanished  quickly.  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  his 
suspiciousness  had  quickly  disappeared,  that  he  surrendered  him- 
self completely  ;  he  betrayed  almost  childish  affection,  confidence 
and  love.  He  kissed  me  with  tears  and  at  once  began  talking 
of  the  position.  .  .  .  Yes,  he  really  did  need  me  :  his  words  and 
the  sequence  of  his  ideas  betrayed  great  mental  disorder. 

He  announced  with  great  firmness  h\s  intention  to  marry  Liza 
and  as  soon  as  possible.  "  The  fact  that  she  is  not  of  noble  birth 
does  not  trouble  me  in  the  least,  beUeve  me,"  he  said  to  me ; 
"  my  grandfather  married  a  serf -girl  who  sang  in  a  neighbouring 

297 


landowner's  private  theatre.  My  family,  of  course,  have  rested 
certain  expectations  upon  me,  but  now  they'll  have  to  give  way, 
and  it  will  not  lead  to  strife.  I  want  to  break  with  my  present 
life  for  good,  for  good  !  To  have  everything  different,  every- 
thing new  !  I  don't  understand  what  made  your  sister  love  me  ; 
but  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  T  should  not  have  been  alive  to  this 
day.  I  swear  from  the  depth  of  my  soul  that  my  meeting  her 
at  Luga  was  the  finger  of  Providence.  I  believe  she  loved  me 
because  *I  had  fallen  so  low'.  .  .  can  you  understand  that 
though,  Arkady  Makarovitch  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  !  "  I  declared  in  a  voice  of  full  conviction.  I  sat 
at  the  table,  and  he  walked  about  the  room. 

"  I  must  tell  you  the  whole  story  of  our  meeting,  without 
reserve.  It  began  with  a  secret  I  had  guarded  in  my  heart, 
of  which  ^e  alone  heard,  because  only  to  her  could  I  bring 
myself  to  trust  it.  And  to  this  day  no  one  else  knows  it.  I  went 
to  Luga  then  with  despair  in  my  heart,  and  stayed  at  Мшс. 
Stolbyeev's,  I  don't  know  why,  seeking  solitude  perhaps.  I  had 
only  just  resigned  my  commission  in  the  regiment,  which  I  had 
entered  on  my  return  from  abroad,  after  my  meeting  with  Andre j' 
Petrovitch  out  there.  I  had  some  money  at  the  time,  and  in 
the  regiment  I  led  a  dissipated  Ufe,  and  spent  freely  ;  well, 
the  officers,  my  comrades,  did  not  like  me,  though  I  tried  not  to 
offend  anyone.  And  I  will  confess  it  to  you,  no  one  has  ever 
liked  me.  There  was  a  certain  Cornet  Stepanov,  I  must  admit 
an  extremely  empty-headed  worthless  fellow  not  distinguished 
in  any  way.  There  was  no  doubt  he  was  honest  though.  He 
was  in  the  habit  of  coming  to  see  me,  and  I  did  not  stand  on 
ceremony  with  him  ;  he  used  to  sit  in  a  corner,  mute  but  dignified, 
for  days  together,  and  he  did  not  get  in  my  way  at  all.  One 
day  I  told  him  a  story  that  was  going  the  round,  with  many 
foolish  additions  of  my  own,  such  as  that  the  colonel's  daughter 
was  in  love  with  me,  and  that  the  colonel  had  his  eye  upon  me 
for  her  and  so  would  do  anything  to  please  me.  ...  In  short, 
I  will  pass  over  the  details,  but  it  led  to  a  very  complicated  and 
revolting  scandal.  It  was  not  Stepanov  who  spread  it  but  my 
orderly,  who  had  overheard  and  remembered  it  all,  for  I  had  told 
an  absurd  storj'  compromising  the  young  lady.  So,  when  there 
was  an  inquiry  into  the  scandal,  and  this  orderly  was  questioned 
by  the  officers,  he  threw  the  blame  on  Stepanov,  that  is,  he  said 
that  it  was  to  Stepanov  I'd  told  the  story.  Stepanov  was  put  in 
such  a  position  that  he  could  not  deny  having  heard  it ;  it  was 

298 


a  question  of  honour.  And  as  two-thirds  of  the  story  had  been 
lying  on  my  part,  the  officers  were  indignant,  and  the  command- 
ing officer  who  had  called  us  together  was  forced  to  clear  the 
matter  up.  At  this  point  the  question  was  put  to  Stepanov  in 
the  presence  of  all  :  had  he  heard  the  story  or  not  ?  And  at 
once  he  told  the  whole  truth.  Well,  what  did  I  do  then,  I,  a 
prince  whose  line  goes  back  a  thousand  years  ?  I  denied  it, 
and  told  Stepanov  to  his  face  that  he  was  lying,  in  the  most  polite 
way,  suggesting  that  he  had  '  misunderstood  my  words  '  and  so 
on,  .  .  .  I'll  leave  out  the  details  again,  but  as  Stepanov  came 
to  me  so  often  I  was  able  with  some  appearance  of  likelihood  to 
put  the  matter  in  such  a  light  that  he  might  seem  to  be  plotting 
with  my  orderly  for  motives  of  his  own  ;  and  this  told  in  my 
favour.  Stepanov  merely  looked  at  me  in  silence  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  I  remember  the  way  he  looked  at  me  and  shall 
never  forget  it.  Then  he  promptly  resigned  his  commission ; 
but  how  do  you  suppose  it  ended  ?  Every  officer  without  ex- 
ception called  on  him  and  begged  him  not  to  resign.  A  fortnight 
later  I,  too,  left  the  regiment ;  no  one  turned  me  out,  no  one 
suggested  my  resigning,  I  alleged  family  reasons  for  my  leaving  the 
army.  That  was  how  the  matter  ended.  At  first  I  didn't  mind, 
and  even  felt  angry  with  them  ;  I  stayed  at  Luga,  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Lizaveta  Makarovna,  but  a  month  afterwards 
I  began  to  look  at  my  revolver  and  to  think  about  death.  I 
looked  at  everything  gloomily,  Arkady  Makarovitch.  I  com- 
posed a  letter  to  the  commanding  officer  and  my  former  comrades, 
with  a  full  confession  of  my  lie,  and  a  vindication  of  Stepanov's 
honour.  When  I  had  written  the  letter  I  asked  myself  the 
question,  should  I  send  it  and  live,  or  should  I  send  it  and  die  ? 
I  should  never  have  decided  that  question.  Chance,  blind  chance 
brought  me  near  to  Lizaveta  Makarovna  after  a  strange  and 
rapid  conversation  with  her.  She  had  been  at  Mme.  Stoibyeev's 
before  that,  we  had  met  and  parted  with  bows  and  had  rarely 
spoken.  I  suddenly  told  her  everything.  It  was  then  she  held 
out  a  hand  to  me." 

"  How  did  she  settle  the  question  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  send  the  letter.  She  decided  that  I  should  not  send 
it.  She  argued  that  if  I  did  send  the  letter  I  should,  of  course, 
have  been  doing  an  honourable  action,  sufficient  to  wash  away 
all  the  filth  of  the  past,  and  far  more,  but  she  doubted  my  having 
the  strength  to  endure  it.  It  was  her  idea  that  no  one  would 
have  the  strength  to  bear  it,  for  then  the  future  would  b^  utterly 

299 


ruined,  and  no  new  life  would  be  possible.  It  is  true  Stepanov 
had  suffered  for  it ;  but  he  had  been  acquitted  by  public  opinion, 
as  it  was.  It  was  a  paradox,  of  course ;  but  she  restrained  me, 
and  I  gave  myself  into  her  hands  completely." 

"  Her  reasoning  was  Jesuitical  but  feminine,"  I  cried  ;  "  she 
had  begun  to  love  you  already  !  " 

"  It  was  my  regeneration  into  a  new  life.  I  vowed  to  change, 
to  begin  a  new  life,  to  be  worthy  of  myself  and  of  her  and 
— this  is  how  it  has  ended  !  It  has  ended  in  my  going  with 
you  to  roulette,  in  my  playing  faro  ;  I  could  not  resist  the 
fortune,  I  was  delighted  at  being  in  the  swim,  delighted  with 
all  these  people,  with  racehorses.  ...  I  tortured  Liza,  to  my 
shame  !  " 

He  rubbed  hb  forehead  with  his  hand  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room. 

"  We  are  both,  you  and  I,  stricken  by  the  same  Russian  curse, 
Arkady  Makarovitch  ;  you  don't  know  what  to  do,  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  If  a  Russian  deviates  ever  so  little  from 
the  rut  of  routine  laid  down  for  him  by  tradition,  at  once  he  is 
at  a  loss  what  to  do.  While  he's  in  the  rut  everything's  clear — 
income,  rank,  position  in  society,  a  carriage,  visits,  a  wife — but 
ever  so  little  off  it — and  what  am  I  ?  A  leaf  fluttering  before  the 
wind,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  1  For  the  last  two  months  I 
have  striven  to  keep  in  the  rut,  I  have  liked  the  rut,  I've  been 
drawn  to  the  pit.  You  don't  know  the  depth  of  my  downfall 
here  ;  I  love  Liza,  but  at  the  same  time  I've  been  thinking  of 
Mme.  Ahmakov  !  " 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  I  cried  in  distress.  "  By  the  way,  what  did 
you  say  yesterday  about  Versilov's  having  instigated  you  to 
behave  in  a  mean  way  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna  ?  " 

"  I  may  have  exaggerated  it,  and  perhaps  I  have  been  unfair 
to  him  in  my  suspiciou.sness  as  I  have  been  to  you.  Let  us  drop 
the  subject.  Why,  do  you  suppose  that  I  have  not  been  brooding 
over  a  lofty  'deal  of  life  all  this  time,  ever  since  Luga,  perhaps  ? 
I  swear  that  ideal  has  never  left  me,  it  has  been  with  me  continu- 
ally, and  has  lost  none  of  its  beauty  in  my  heart.  I  remembered 
the  vow  I  made  to  Lizaveta  Makarovna  to  reform.  When  Audrey 
Petrovitch  talked  about  the  aristocracy  to  me  yesterday,  he  said 
nothing  new,  I  can  assure  you.  My  ideal  is  firmly  established : 
a  few  score  acres  (and  only  a  few  score,  for  I've  scarcely  anything 
left  of  the  fortune ),  then  absolutely  complete  abandonment  of 
the  world  and  a  career ;   a  rural  home,  a  family,  and  myself  a 

300 


tiller  of  the  soil  or  something  of  the  sort.  Oh,  in  our  family  it's 
nothing  new  ;  my  uncle,  my  grandfather,  too,  tilled  the  soil  with 
their  own  hands.  We  have  been  princes  for  a  thousand  years,  as 
aristocratic  and  as  ancient  a  name  as  the  Rohans,  but  we  are 
beggars.  And  this  is  how  I  will  train  my  children  :  '  Remember 
always,  all  your  life,  that  you  are  a  nobleman,  that  the  sacred 
blood  of  Russian  princes  flows  in  your  veins,  but  never  be  ashamed 
that  your  father  tilled  the  soil  with  his  own  hands— he  did  it  like 
a  prince.'  I  should  not  leave  them  property,  nothing  but  that 
strip  of  land,  but  I  would  bring  them  up  in  the  loftiest  principles  : 
that  I  should  consider  a  duty.  Oh,  I  should  be  helped  by  Liza, 
by  work,  by  children  ;  oh,  how  we  have  dreamed  of  this  together, 
dreamed  of  it  here  in  this  room.  And  would  you  believe  it  ?  at 
the  same  time  I  was  thinking  of  Mme.  Ahmakov,  and  of  the 
possibility  of  a  worldly  and  wealthy  marriage,  though  I  don't  care 
for  the  woman  in  the  least !  And  only  after  what  Nastchokin 
said  about  Biiring,  I  resolved  to  turn  to  Anna  Andreyevna." 

"  But  you  went  to  decline  the  match  ?  That  was  an  honour- 
able action  anyway,  I  suppose  1  " 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  he  stopped  short  before  me.  "  No,  you  don't 
know  my  nature,  or  else  there  is  something  I  don't  know  myself, 
because  it  seems  I  have  more  than  one  nature.  I  love  you 
sincerely,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  and  besides  I  am  terribly  to  blame 
for  the  way  I've  treated  you  for  the  last  two  months,  and  so  I 
want  you  as  Liza's  brother  to  know  ail  this.  I  went  to  Anna 
Andreyevna  to  make  her  an  offer  of  marriage,  not  to  disown 
the  idea." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?     But  Liza  told  me  .  .  ." 

"  I  deceived  Liza." 

"  Tell  me,  please,  you  made  a  formal  oflfer  and  Anna  Andrey- 
evna refused  it  ?  Was  that  it  ?  Was  that  it  ?  The  facts  are 
of  great  importance  to  me,  prince." 

"  No,  I  did  not  make  an  offer  at  all,  but  that  was  only  because 
I  hadn't  time  ;  she  forestalled  me,  not  in  direct  words,  of  course, 
though  the  meaning  was  clear  and  unmistakable — she  '  deli- 
cately '  gave  me  to  understand  that  the  idea  was  henceforth 
out  of  the  question." 

"  So  it  was  the  same  as  your  not  making  her  an  offer,  and  your 
pride  hais  not  suffered  !  " 

"  How  can  you  reason  like  that !  My  own  conscience  con- 
demns me,  and  what  of  Liza,  whom  I  have  deceived  .  .  .  and 
meant  to  abandon  ?     And  the  vow  I  made  to  myself  and  my 

301 


forefathers  to  reform  and  to  atone  for  all  my  ignoble  past !  I 
entreat  you  not  to  tell  her  that.  Perhaps  that  is  the  one  thing 
she  would  not  be  able  to  forgive  me  !  I  have  been  ill  since  what 
happened  yesterday.  And  now  it  seems  that  all  is  over,  and  the 
last  of  the  Sokolskys  will  be  sent  to  prison.  Poor  Liza  !  I  have 
been  very  anxious  to  see  you  all  day,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  to 
tell  you  as  Liza's  brother  what  she  knows  nothing  of  as  yet. 
I  am  a  criminal.     I  have  taken  part  in  forging  railway  shares  1  ** 

"  Something  more  !  What,  you  are  going  to  prison  ?  "  I  cried 
jumping  up  and  looking  at  him  in  horror.  His  face  wore  a  look 
of  the  deepest  gloom  and  utterly  hopeless  sorrow. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  and  he  sat  down  in  the  armchair  oppo- 
site. "  To  begin  with,  you  had  better  know  the  facts  ;  it  was 
more  than  a  year  ago,  that  same  summer  that  I  was  at  Ems 
with  Lidya,  and  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  and  afterwards  at  Paris, 
just  at  the  time  when  I  was  going  to  Paris  for  two  months.  In 
Paris,  of  course,  I  was  short  of  money,  sncl  it  was  just  then 
Stebelkov  turned  up,  though  I  knew  him  before.  He  gave  me 
some  money  and  promised  to  give  me  more,  but  asked  me  in 
return  to  help  him  ;  he  wanted  an  artist,  a  draughtsman,  en- 
graver, lithographer,  and  so  on,  a  chemist,  an  expert,  and — 
for  certain  purposes.  What  those  purposes  were  he  hinted 
pretty  plainly  from  the  first.  And  would  you  believe  it  ?  he 
understood  my  character — it  only  made  me  laugh.  The  point 
is  that  from  my  schooldays  I  had  an  acquaintance,  at  present  a 
Russian  exile,  though  he  was  not  really  a  Russian,  but  a  native 
of  Hamburg.  He  had  been  mixed  up  in  some  cases  of  forging 
papers  in  Russia  already.  It  was  on  this  man  that  Stebelkov 
was  reckoning,  but  he  wanted  an  introduction  to  him  and  he 
applied  to  me.  I  wrote  a  couple  of  lines  for  him,  and  immediately 
forgot  all  about  it.  Afterwards  he  met  me  again  and  again, 
and  I  received  altogether  as  much  as  three  thousand  from  him. 
I  had  literally  forgotten  all  about  the  business.  Here  I've  been 
borrowing  from  him  all  the  time  with  1 0  Us  and  securities,  and  he 
has  been  cringing  before  me  like  a  slave,  and  suddenly  yesterday 
I  learned  from  him  for  the  first  time  that  I  am  a  criminal." 

"  When,  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yesterday  morning,  when  we  were  shouting  in  my  study 
just  before  Nastchokin  arrived.  For  the  first  time  he  had  the 
efifrontery  to  speak  to  me  quite  openly  of  Anna  Andreyevna. 
I  raised  my  hand  to  strike  him,  but  he  suddenly  stood  up  and 
informed  me  that  his  interests  were   mine,   and   that  I  must 

302 


remember  that  I  was  his  accomplice  and  as  much  a  swindler 
as  he — though  he  did  not  use  those  words,  that  was  the 
sense." 

"  What  nonsense,  why  surely  it's  all  imagination  ?  " 

"  No,  it's  not  imagination.  He  has  been  here  to-day  and 
explained  things  more  exactly.  These  forged  documents  have 
been  in  circulation  a  long  time,  and  are  still  being  passed  about, 
but  it  seems  they've  already  begun  to  be  noticed.  Of  course, 
I've  nothing  to  do  with  it,  but  '  you  see  though,  you  were 
pleased  to  give  me  that  little  letter,'  that's  what  Stebelkov 
told  me." 

"  So  you  didn't  know,  of  course,  what  for,  or  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  did  know,"  Prince  Sergay  answered  in  a  low  voice,  dropping 
his  eyes ;  "  that's  to  say  I  knew  and  didn't  know,  you  see.  I  was 
laughing,  I  was  amused.  I  did  it  without  thinking,  for  I  had  no 
need  of  forged  documents  at  that  time,  and  it  wasn't  I  who  meant 
to  make  them.  But  that  three  thousand  he  gave  me  then  he 
did  not  put  down  in  his  account  against  me  and  I  let  it  pass. 
But  how  do  you  know,  perhaps  I  really  am  a  forger.  I  could  not 
help  knowing,  I  am  not  a  child  ;  I  did  know,  but  I  felt  in  a  merry 
humour  and  I  helped  scoundrels,  felons  .  .  .  helped  them  for 
money  !     So  I,  too,  am  a  forger  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  are  exaggerating  ;  you've  done  wrong,  but  you're 
exaggerating  !  " 

"  There's  some  one  else  in  it,  a  young  man  called  Zhibyelsky, 
some  sort  of  attorney's  clerk.  He,  too,  had  something  to  do 
with  these  forgeries,  he  came  afterwards  from  that  gentleman 
at  Hamburg  to  see  me  about  some  nonsense ;  of  course,  I 
didn't  know  what  it  was  about  myself — it  was  not  about  those 
forgeries  I  know  that  .  .  .  but  he  has  kept  in  his  possession 
two  documents  in  my  handwriting,  only  brief  notes — and,  of 
course,  they  are  evidence  too  ;  I  understood  that  to-day.  Stebel- 
kov makes  out  that  this  Zhibyelsky  is  spoiling  everything  ; 
he  has  stolen  something,  public  money  I  believe,  but  means  to 
steal  something  more  and  then  to  emigrate  ;  so  he  wants  eight 
thousand,  not  a  penny  less,  to  help  him  on  his  way.  My  share 
of  the  fortune  I  had  inherited  would  satisfy  Stebelkov,  but  he 
said  Zhibyelsky  must  be  satisfied  too.  ...  In  short  I  must 
give  up  my  share  of  the  fortune  and  ten  thousand  besides,  that's 
their  final  offer.  And  then  they  will  give  me  back  my  two  letters. 
They're  in  collusion,  that's  clear." 

"  It's  obviously  absurd  !     If  they  inform  against  you  they 

303 


will   betray   themselves  !     Nothing   will   induce   them   to   give 
information." 

"  I  understand  that.  They  don't  threaten  to  give  informa- 
tion at  all,  they  only  say,  '  We  shall  not  inform,  of  course,  but 
if  it  should  be  discovered,  then  .  .  .'  that's  what  they  say. 
and  that's  all,  but  I  think  it's  enough  !  But  that's  not  the  point ; 
whatever  happens,  and  even  if  I  had  those  letters  in  my  pocket 
now,  yet  to  be  associated  with  those  swindlers,  to  be  their 
accomplice  for  ever  and  ever  !  To  lie  to  Russia,  to  lie  to  my 
children,  to  lie  to  Liza,  to  he  to  my  conscience  !  .  .  ." 
"  Does  Liza  know  ?  " 

"  No,  she  does  not  know  everything.  It  would  be  too  much 
for  her  in  her  condition.  I  wear  the  uniform  of  п)у  regiment, 
and  every  time  I  meet  a  soldier  of  the  regiment,  at  every  second, 
I  am  inwardly  conscious  that  I  must  not  dare  to  wear  the 
uniform." 

"  Listen,"  I  cried  suddenly  ;  "  there's  no  need  to  \vaste  time 
talking  about  it ;  there's  only  one-  way  of  salvation  for  you  ; 
go  to  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch,  borrow  ten  thousand  from  him, 
ask  him  for  it,  without  telling  him  what  for,  then  send  for  those 
two  swindlers,  settle  up  with  them  finally,  buy  back  your  letters 
.  .  .  and  the  thing  is  over  !  The  whole  thing  will  be  ended, 
and  you  can  go  and  till  the  land  !  Away  with  vain  imaginings 
and  have  faith  in  life  !  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  he  said  resolutely.  "  I  have  been 
making  up  my  mind  all  day  and  at  last  I  have  decided.  I  have 
only  been  waiting  for  you  ;  I  will  go.  Lo  you  know  I  have 
never  in  my  life  borrowed  a  farthing  from  Prince  Nikolay 
Ivanitch.  He  is  well  disposed  to  our  family  and  even  .  .  .  and 
has  come  to  their  assistance,  but  I,  I  personally,  have  never 
borrowed  money  from  him.  But  now  I  am  determined  to. 
Our  family,  you  may  note,  is  an  older  branch  of  the  Sokolskys 
than  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch 's  ;  they  are  a  younger  branch, 
collaterals,  in  fact,  hardly  recognized.  .  .  .  There  was  a  feud 
between  our  ancestors.  At  the  beginning  of  the  reforms  of 
Peter  the  Great,  my  great-grandfather,  whose  name  was  Peter 
too,  remained  an  Old  Believer,  and  was  a  wanderer  in  the  forest 
of  Kostroma.  That  Prince  Peter  married  a  second  wife  who  was 
not  of  noble  birth.  ...  So  it  was  then  these  other  Sokolskys 
dropped  out,  but  I.  .  .  .  What  was  I  talking  about  ?  .  .  ." 

He  was  very  much  exhausted,  and  seemed  talkiiig  almost 
unconsciously, 

304 


"  Calm  yourself,"  I  said,  standing  up  and  taking  my  hat  *, 
"  go  to  bed,  that's  the  first  thing.  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch  is 
sure  not  to  refuse,  especially  now  in  the  overflow  of  his  joy. 
Have  you  heard  the  latest  news  from  that  quarter  ?  Haven't 
you,  really  ?  I  have  heard  a  wild  story  that  he  is  going  to  get 
married  ;  it's  a  secret,  but  not  from  you,  of  course." 

And  I  toJd  him  all  about  it,  standing,  hat  in  hand.  He  knew 
nothing  about  it.  He  quickly  asked  questions,  inquiring  princi- 
pally when  and  where  the  match  had  been  arranged  and  how 
far  the  rumour  was  trustworthy.  I  did  not,  of  course,  conceal 
from  him  that  it  had  been  settled  immediately  after  his  visit  to 
Anna  Andreyevna.  I  cannot  describe  what  a  painful  impres- 
sion this  news  made  upon  him  ;  his  face  worked  and  was  almost 
contorted,  and  his  lips  twitched  convulsively  in  a  wry  smile. 
At  the  end  he  turned  horribly  pale  and  sank  into  a  reverie,  witli 
his  eyes  on  the  floor.  I  suddenly  saw  quite  clearly  that  hi» 
vanity  had  been  deeply  wounded  by  Anna  Andreyevna's  refusal 
of  him  the  day  before.  Perhaps  in  his  morbid  state  of  mind 
he  reahzed  only  too  vividly  at  that  minute  the  absurd  and 
humiliating  part  he  had  played  the  day  before  in  the  eyee 
of  the  young  lady  of  whose  acceptance,  as  it  now  appeared, 
he  had  all  the  time  been  so  calmly  confident.  And  worst  of  all, 
perhaps,  was  the  thought  that  he  had  behaved  so  shabbily  to 
Liza,  and  to  no  purpose  !  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  for 
what  these  foppish  young  snobs  think  well  of  one  another,  and 
on  what  grounds  they  can  respect  one  another  ;  this  prince 
might  well  have  supposed  that  Anna  Andreyevna  knew  of  his 
connection  with  Liza: — in  reaUty  her  sister — or  if  she  did  not 
actually  know,  that  she  would  be  certain  to  hear  of  it  sooner  or 
later  ;  and  yet  he  haji  "  had  no  doubt  of  her  acceptance  !  " 

"  And  could  you  possibly  imagine,"  he  said  suddenly,  with  a 
proud  and  supercilious  glance  at  me,  "  that  now,  after  learning 
such  a  fact,  I,  I  could  be  capable  of  going  to  Prince  Nikolay 
Ivanitch  and  asking  him  for  money  ?  Ask  him,  the  accepted  fiance 
of  the  lady  who  has  just  refused  me — like  a  beggar,  like  a  flunkey  ! 
No,  now  all  is  lost,  and  if  that  old  man's  help  is  my  only  hope, 
then  let  my  last  hope  perish  !  " 

In  my  heart  I  shared  his  feeling,  but  it  was  necessary  to  take  a 
broader  view  of  the  real  position  :  was  the  poor  old  prince  really 
to  be  looked  upon  as  a  successful  rival  ?  I  had  several  ideas 
fermenting  in  my  brain.  I  had,  apart  from  Prince  Sergay's 
affairs,  made  up  my  mind    to    visit   the    old    man  next  day. 

305  "" 


For  the  moment  I  tried  to  soften  the  impression  made  by  the  news 
and  to  get  the  poor  prince  to  bed  !  "  When  you  have  slept, 
things  will  look  brighter,  you'll  see  !  "  He  pressed  my  hand 
warmly,  but  this  time  he  did  not  kiss  me.  I  promised  to  come 
and  see  him  the  following  evening,  and  "  we'll  talk,  we'll  talk  ; 
there's  so  much  to  talk  of."  He  greeted  these  last  words  of  mine 
with  a  fateful  snule. 


CHAPTER  Vin 


All  that  night  I  dreamed  of  roulette,  of  play,  of  gold,  and  reckon- 
ings. I  seemed  in  my  dreams  to  be  calculating  something  at  the 
gambling  table,  some  stake,  some  chance,  and  it  oppressed  me 
all  night  like  a  nightmare.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  of  the  pre- 
vious day,  in  spite  of  all  the  startling  impressions  I  had  received, 
I  had  been  continually  thinking  of  the  money  I  had  won  at 
Zerstchikov's.  I  suppressed  the  thought,  but  I  could  not  sup- 
press the  emotion  it  aroused,  and  I  quivered  all  over  at  the  mere 
recollection  of  it.  That  success  had  put  me  in  a  fever  ;  could  it 
be  that  I  was  a  gambler,  or  at  least — to  be  more  accurate — that 
I  had  the  quaUties  of  a  gambler  ?  Even  now,  at  the  time  of 
writing  this,  I  stiH  at  moments  like  thinking  about  play  1  It  some- 
times happens  that  I  sit  for  hours  together  absorbed  in  silent 
calculations  about  gambling  and  in  dreams  of  putting  down  my 
stake,  of  the  number  turning  up,  and  of  picking  up  my  wumings. 
Yes,  I  have  all  sorts  of  "  qualities,"  and  my  nature  is  not  a 
tranquil  one. 

At  ten  o'clock  I  intended  to  go  to  Stebelkov's  and  I  meant  to 
walk.  I  sent  Matvey  home  as  soon  as  he  appeared.  While  I  wae 
drinking  my  cotfee  I  tried  to  think  over  the  position.  For  some 
reason  I  felt  pleased  ;  a  moment's  self-analysis  made  me  realize 
that  I  was  chiefly  pleased  because  I  was  going  that  day  to  the 
old  prince's.  But  that  day  was  a  momentous  and  startling  one 
in  my  life,  and  it  began  at  once  with  a  surprise. 

At  ten  o'clock  my  door  was  flung  wide  open,  and  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  flew  in.  There  was  nothing  I  expected  less  than  a  visit 
from  her,  and  I  jumped  up  in  alarm  on  seeing  her.  Her  face  was 
ferocious,  her  manner  was  incoherent,  and  I  daresay  if  she  had 
been  asked  she  could  not  have  said  why  she  had  hastened  to  me. 
I  may  as  well  say  at  once,  that  she  had  just  received  a  piece  of 

306 


news  that  had  completely  overwhelmed  her,  and  she  had  not 
recovered  from  the  first  shock  of  it.  The  news  overwhelmed  me, 
too.  She  stayed,  however,  only  half  a  minute,  or  perhaps  a 
minute,  but  not  more.     She  simply  pounced  upon  me. 

"  So  this  is  what  you've  been  up  to  !  "  she  said,  standing  facing 
me  and  bending  forward.  "  Ah,  you  young  puppy  !  What  have 
you  done  !  What,  you  don't  even  know  !  Goes  on  drinking  his 
coffee !  Oh,  you  babbler,  you  chatterbox,  oh,  you  imitation 
lover  .  .  .  boys  Ике  you  are  whipped,  whipped,  whipped  !  " 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  what  has  happened  ?  What  is  the 
matter  ?     Is  mother  ?  .  .  ." 

"  You  will  know  !  "  she  shouted  menacingly,  ran  out  of  the 
room — and  was  gone.  I  should  certainly  have  run  after  her, 
but  I  was  restrained  by  one  thought,  and  that  was  not  a  thought 
but  a  vague  misgiving  :  I  had  an  inkling  that  of  all  her  vitupera- 
tion, "  imitation  lover  "  was  the  most  significant  phrase.  Of 
oourse  I  could  not  guess  what  it  meant,  but  I  hastened  out, 
that  I  might  finish  with  Stebelkov  and  go  as  soon  as  possible  to 
Nikolay  Ivanitch. 

"  The  key  to  it  all  is  there  !  "  I  thought  instinctively. 

I  can't  imagine  how  he  learned  it,  but  Stebelkov  already  knew 
all  about  Anna  Andreyevna  down  to  every  detail ;  I  will  not 
describe  his  conversation  and  his  gestures,  but  he  was  in  a  state 
of  enthusiasm,  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  enthusiasm  over  this  "  master- 
stroke." 

"  She  is  a  person !  Yes,  she  is  a  person ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Yes,  that's  not  our  way  ;  here  we  sit  still  and  do  nothing, 
but  as  soon  as  she  wants  something  of  the  best  she  takes  it. 
She's  an  antique  statue  !  She  is  an  antique  statue  of  Minerva, 
only  she  is  walking  about  and  wearing  modern  dress  !  " 

I  asked  him  to  come  to  business ;  this  business  was,  as  I  had 
guessed,  solely  to  ask  me  to  persuade  and  induce  Prince  Sergay 
to  appeal  to  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch  for  a  loan.  "  Or  it  will  be  a 
very  very  bad  look-out  for  him,  though  it's  none  of  my  doing  ; 
that's  so,  isn't  it  ?  " 

He  kept  peeping  into  my  face,  but  I  fancy  did  not  detect  that 
I  knew  anything  more  than  the  day  before.  And  indeed  he  could 
not  have  imagined  it  :  I  need  hardly  say  that  I  did  not  by  word 
or  hint  betray  that  I  knew  anything  about  the  forged  documents. 

Our  explanations  did.not  take  long,  he  began  at  once  promising 
me  money,  "  and  a  considerable  sum,  a  considerable  sum,  if  only 
you  will  manage  that  the  prince  should  go.     The  matter  is  urgent, 

307 


very  urgent,  and  that's  the  chief  point  that  the  matter's  so 
pressing  !  " 

I  did  not  want  to  argue  and  wrangle  with  him,  as  I  had  done 
the  day  before,  and  I  got  up  to  go,  though  to  be  on  the  safe  side 
I  flung  him  in  reply  that  "  I  would  try  "  ;  but  he  suddenly  amazed 
me  beyond  all  expression  :  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  door  when 
all  at  once  he  put  his  arm  round  my  waist  affectionately  and 
began  talking  to  me  in  the  most  incomprehensible  way. 

I  will  omit  the  details  of  the  conversation  that  I  may  not  be 
wearisome.  The  upshot  of  it  was  that  he  made  me  a  proposition 
that  I  should  introduce  him  to  M.  Dergatchev,  "  since  you  go 
there  !  " 

I  instantly  became  quiet,  doing  my  utmost  not  to  betray  my- 
self by  the  sUghtest  gesture.  I  answered  at  once,  however,  that 
I  was  quite  a  stranger  there,  and  though  I  had  been  in  the  house, 
it  was  only  on  one  occasion,  by  chance. 

"  But  if  you've  been  admitted  once,  you  might  go  a  second  time  ; 
isn't  that  so  ?  " 

I  asked  him  point-blank,  and  with  great  coolness,  why  he 
wanted  it  ?  And  to  this  day  I  can't  understand  such  a  degree 
of  simplicity  in  a  man  who  was  apparently  no  fool,  and  who  was 
a  "  business  man,"  as  Vassin  had  said  of  him  !  He  explained 
to  me  quite  openly  that  he  suspected  "  that  something  prohibited 
and  sternly  prohibited  was  going  on  at  Dergatchev's,  and  so  if 
I  watch  him  I  may  very  likely  make  something  by  it."  And 
with  a  grin  he  winked  at  me  with  his  left  eye. 

I  made  no  definite  answer,  but  pretended  to  be  considering 
it  and  promised  to  "  think  about  it,"  and  with  that  I  went 
hastily  away.  The  position  was  growing  more  complicated  : 
1  fl(;w  to  Vassin,  and  at  once  found  him  at  home. 

'■  What,  you  .  .  .  too  !  "  he  said  enigmatically  on  seeing  me. 
Without   inquiring   the   significance   of   this   phrase,    I   went 
straight  to  the  point  and  told  him  what  had  happened.     He  wae 
evidently  impressed,  though  he  remained  absolutely  cool.     He 
cross-examined  me  minutely. 

"  It  may  very  well  be  that  you  misunderstood  him." 
"  No,  I  quite  understood  him,  his  meaning  was  quite  clear." 
"  In  any  case  I  am  extremely  grateful  to  you,"  he  added  with 
sincerity.     "  Yes,  indeed,  if  that  is  so,  he  imagined  that  you  could 
not  resist  a  certain  sum  of  money." 

"  And,  besides,  he  knows  my  position  :   I've  been  playing  all 
this  time,  and  behaving  badly,  Vassin." 

308 


"  I  have  heard  about  that." 

"  What  puzzles  me  most  of  all  is  that  he  knows  you  go  there 
constantly,  too,"  I  ventured  to  observe. 

"  He  knows  perfectly  well,"   Vassin  answered  quite  simply, 
"  that  I  don't  go  there  with  any  object.     And  indeed  all  those 
young  people  are  simply  chatterers,  nothing  more  ;    you  have 
reason  to  remember  that  as  well  as  anyone." 
I  fancied  that  he  did  not  quite  trust  rae. 
"  In  any  case  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you." 
"  I  have  heard  that  M.  Stebelkov's  affairs  are  in  rather  a  bad 
way,"  I  tried  to  question  him  once  more.     "  I've  heard,  anyway, 
of  certain  shares  .  .  ." 

"  What  shares  have  you  heard  about  ?  " 

I  mentioned  "  the  shares  "  on  purpose,  but  of  course  not  with 
the  idea  of  telling  him  the  secret  Prince  Sergay  had  told  rae  the 
day  before.  I  only  wanted  to  drop  a  hint  and  see  from  his  face, 
from  his  eyes,  whether  he  knew  anything  about  "  shares."  I 
attained  my  object  :  from  a  momentary  indefinable  change  in 
his  face,  I  guessed  that  he  did  perhaps  know  something  in  this 
matter,  too.  I  did  not  answer  his  question  "  what  shares,"  I 
was  silent ;  and  it  was  worth  noting  that  he  did  not  pursue  the 
subject  either. 

"  How's  Lizaveta  Makarovna  ?  "  he  inquired  with  sympa- 
thetic interest. 

"  She's  quite  well.  My  sister  has  always  thought  very  highly 
of  you.  .  .  ." 

There  was  a  gleam  of  pleasure  in  his  eyes  ;  I  had  guessed  long 
bafore  that  he  was  not  indifferent  to  Liza. 

"  Prince  Sergay  Petrovitch  was  here  the  other  day,"  he  in- 
formed me  suddenly. 
"  When  ?  "  I  cried. 
"  Just  four  days  ago." 
"  Not  yesterday  ?  " 

"  No,  not  yesterday."  He  looked  at  me  inquiringly.  "  Later 
perhaps  I  may  describe  our  meeting  more  fully,  but  for  the 
moment  I  feel  I  must  warn  you,"  Vassin  said  mysteriously, 
"  that  he  struck  me  as  being  in  an  abnormal  condition  of  mind, 
and  ...  of  brain  indeed.  I  had  another  visit,  however,"  he 
added  suddenly  with  a  smile,  "  just  before  you  came,  and  I  was 
driven  to  the  same  conclusion  about  that  visitor,  too." 
"  Has  Prince  Sergay  just  been  here  ?  " 
"  No,  not  Prince  Sergay,  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  prince  just 

309 


now.     Andrey  Petrovitch  Versilov  has  just  been  here,  and  .  .  . 
you've  heard  nothing  ?     Haisn't  something  happened  to  him  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  something  has ;  but  what  passed  between  you 
exactly  ?  "  I  asked  hurriedly. 

"  Of  course,  I  ought  to  keep  it  secret  ...  we  are  talking  rather 
queerly,  with  too  much  reserve,"  he  smiled  again.  "  Andrey 
Petrovitch,  however,  did  not  tell  me  to  keep  it  secret.  But  you 
are  his  son,  and  as  I  know  your  feelings  for  him,  I  believe  I  may 
be  doing  right  to  warn  you.  Only  fancy,  he  came  to  me  to  ask 
the  question  :  '  In  case  it  should  be  necessary  for  him  very 
shortly,  in  a  day  or  two,  to  fight  a  duel,  would  I  consent  to  be  his 
second  ?  '     I  refused  absolutely,  of  course." 

I  was  immensely  astonished  ;  this  piece  of  news  was  the  most 
disturbing  of  all :  something  was  wrong,  something  had  tiuned 
up,  something  had  happened  of  which  I  knew  nothing  as  yet ! 
I  suddenly  recalled  in  a  flash  how  Versilov  had  said  to  me  the  day 
before  :  "  I  shan't  come  to  you,  but  you'll  come  running  to  me." 

I  rushed  off  to  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch,  feeling  more  than  ever 
that  the  key  to  the  mystery  lay  there.  As  he  said  good-bye, 
Vassin  thanked  me  again. 


The  old  prince  was  sitting  before  an  open  fire  with  a  rug 
wrapped  round  his  legs.  He  met  me  M'ith  an  almost  questioning 
air,  as  though  he  were  surprised  that  I  had  come ;  yet  almost 
every  day  he  had  sent  messages  inviting  me.  He  greeted  me 
affectionately,  however.  But  his  answers  to  my  first  questions 
sounded  somewhat  reluctant,  and  were  fearfully  vague.  At 
times  he  seemed  to  deliberate,  and  looked  intently  at  me, 
as  though  forgetting  and  trying  to  recall  something  which 
certamly  ought  to  be  connected  with  me.  I  told  him  frankly 
that  I  had  heard  everything  and  was  very  glad.  A  cordial  and 
good-natured  smile  came  into  his  face  at  once  and  his  spirits 
rose  ;  his  mistrust  and  caution  vanished  at  once  as  though  he 
had  forgotten  them      And  indeed  he  had,  of  course. 

"  My  dear  young  friend,  I  knew  you  would  be  the  first  to  come, 
and,  and  do  you  know,  I  thought  about  you  yesterday  :  *  Who 
will  be  pleased  ?  he  will ! '  Well,  no  one  else  will  indeed  ;  but 
that  doesn't  matter.  People  are  spiteful  gossips,  but  that's  no 
great  matter.  .  .  .  Cher  enfant,  this  is  so  exalted  and  so  charm- 
ing. .  .  .  But,  of  course,  you  know  her  well.    And  Anna  Andrey- 

310 


evna  has  the  highest  opinion  of  you.  It's  a  grave  and  charming 
face  out  of  an  English  keepsake.  It's  the  most  charming  EngUsh 
engraving  possible.  .  .  .  Two  years  ago  I  had  a  regular  collection 
of  such  engravings.  ...  I  always  had  the  intention,  always  ; 
I  only  wonder  why  it  was  I  never  thought  of  it." 

"  You  always,   if    I  remember  rightly,    distinguished   Anna 
Andreyevna  and  were  fond  of  her." 

"  My  dear  boy,  we  don't  want  to  hurt  anyone.  Life  with  one's 
friends,  with  one's  relations,  with  those  dear  to  one's  heart  is 
paradise.  All  the  poets.  ...  In  short,  it  has  been  well  known 
from  prehistoric  times.  In  the  summer  you  know  we  are  going  to 
Soden,  and  then  to  Bad-Gastein.  But  what  a  long  time  it  is  since 
you've  been  to  see  me,  my  dear  boy ;  what's  been  the  matter  with 
you  ?  I've  been  expecting  you.  And  how  much,  how  much 
has  happened  meanwhile,  hasn't  it  ?  I  am  only  sorry  that  I  am 
uneasy ;  as  soon  as  I  am  alone  I  feel  uneasy.  That  is  why  I 
must  not  be  left  alone,  must  I  ?  That's  as  plain  as  twice  two 
make  four.  I  understood  that  at  once  from  her  first  word. 
Oh,  my  dear  boy,  she  only  spoke  two  words,  but  ...  it  was 
something  Ике  a  glorious  poem.  But,  of  course,  you  are  her 
brother,  almost  her  brother,  aren't  you  ?  My  dear  boy,  it's  not 
for  nothing  I'm  so  fond  of  you  !  I  swear  I  had  a  presentiment 
of  all  this.     I  kissed  her  hand  and  wept." 

He  took  out  his  handkerchief  as  though  preparing  to  weep 
again.  He  was  violently  agitated,  suffering,  I  fancy,  from  one  of 
his  "  nervous  attacks,"  and  one  of  the  worst  I  remember  in  the 
whole  course  of  our  acquaintance.  As  a  rule,  almost  аЫауз  in 
fact,  he  was  ever  so  much  better  and  more  good-humoured. 

"  I  would  forgive  everything,  my  dear  boy,"  he  babbled  on. 
"  I  long  to  forgive  every  one,  and  it's  a  long  time  since  I  was  angry 
with  anyone.  Art,  la  poisie  dans  la  vie,  philanthropy,  and  she, 
a  bibUcal  beauty,  quelle  charmante  person,  eh  ?  Les  chants 
de  Salomon  .  .  .  nan,  c'est  n'est  pas  Salomon,  c'tst  David  qui 
m^tait  une  jeune  belle  dans  son  lit  pour  se  chauffer  dans  sa 
vieillesse.  Enfin  David,  Salomon,  all  that  keeps  going  round  in 
my  head — a  regular  jumble.  Everything,  cher  enfant  may  be  at 
the  same  time  grand  and  ridiculous.  Cette  jeune  belle  de  la 
vieiUesse  de  David — c'est  tout  un  роете,  and  Paul  de  Kock  would 
have  made  of  it  a  scene  de  bassinoire,  and  we  should  all  have 
laughed.  Paul  de  Kock  has  neither  taste  nor  sense  of  proportion, 
though  he  is  a  writer  of  talent  .  .  .  Katerina  Nikolaevna  smiles 
...  I  said  that  we  would  not  trouble  anyone.    We  have  begun 

311 


our  romance  and  only  ask  them  to  let  us  finish  it.  Maybe  it  ia 
a  dream,  but  don't  let  them  rob  me  of  this  dream.' 

"  How  do  you  mean  it's  a  dream,  prince  ?  " 

'*  A  dream  ?  How  a  dream  ?  Well,  let  it  be  a  dream,  but  let 
me  die  with  that  dream." 

"  Oh,  why  talk  of  dying,  prince  ?  You  have  to  live  now,  only 
to  Uve  !  " 

"  Why,  what  did  I  say  ?  That's  just  what  I  keep  saying. 
I  simply  can't  understand  why  life  is  so  short.  To  avoid  being 
tedious,  no  doubt,  for  life,  too,  is  the  Creator's  work  of  art,  in  a 
perfect  and  irreproachable  form  like  a  poem  of  Pushkin's.  Brevity 
is  the  first  essential  of  true  art.  But  if  anyone  is  not  bored,  he 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  Uve  longer." 

"  Tell  me,  prince,  is  it  pubUc  property  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  boy,  certainly  not  1  We  have  all  agreed  upon 
that.  It's  private,  private,  private.  So  far  I've  only  disclosed 
it  fully  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  because  I  felt  I  was  being  unfair 
to  her.     Oh,  IQt,terina  Nikolaevna  is  an  angel,  she  is  an  angel  1  " 

"  Yes,  yes  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  you  say  '  yes '  ?  Why,  I  thought  that  you  were 
her  enemy,  too.  Ach,  by  the  way,  she  asked  me  not  to  receive  you 
any  more.     And  only  fancy,  when  you  came  in  I  quite  forgot  it." 

"  What  are  you  saying  ?  "  I  cried,  jumping  up.  "  Why  ? 
Where  ?  " 

(My  presentiment  had  not  deceived  me  ;  I  had  had  a  presenti- 
ment of  something  of  this  sort  ever  since  Tatyana's  visit.) 

"Yesterday,  my  dear  boy,  yesterday.  I  don't  uinderstand, 
in  fact,  how  you  got  in,  for  orders  were  given.  How  did  you 
come  in  ?  " 

"  I  simply  walked  in." 

"  The  surest  way.  If  you  had  tried  to  creep  in  by  stealth, 
no  doubt  they  would  have  caught  you,  but  as  you  simply  walked 
in  they  let  you  pass.  Simplicity,  c?ier  enfant,  is  in  reaUty  the 
deepest  cunning." 

"  I  don't  understand  :  did  you,  too,  decide  not  to  receive  me, 
then  I  " 

"  No,  my  dear  boy,  I  said  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it 

That  is  I  gave  my  full  consent.  And  believe  me,  my  dear  boy, 
I  am  much  too  fond  of  you.  But  Katerina  Nikolaevna  insisted 
so  very  strongly.  .  .  .  So,  there  it  is  !  " 

At  that  instant  Katerina  Nikolaevna  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
She  was  dressed  to  go  out,  and  as  usual  came  in  to  kiss  her  father. 

312 


Seeing  me  she  stopped  short  in  confusion,  turned  quickly,  and 
went  out. 

"  Voild  !  "  cried  the  old  prince,  impressed  and  much  disturbed. 

"  It's  a  misunderstanding  !  "  I  cried.  "  One  moment  ...  I 
,  .  .  I'll  come  back  to  you  directly,  prince  !  " 

And  I  ran  after  Katerina  Nikolaevna. 

All  that  followed  upon  this  happened  so  quickly  that  I  had  no 
time  to  reflect,  or  even  to  consider  in  the  least  how  to  behave. 
If  I  had  had  time  to  consider,  I  should  certainly  have  behaved 
differently  I  But  I  lost  my  head  like  a  small  boy.  I  was  rushing 
towards  her  room,  but  on  the  way  a  footman  informed  me  that 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  had  already  gone  downstairs  and  was 
getting  into  her  carriage.  I  rushed  headlong  down  the  front 
staircase.  Katerina  Nikolaevna  \/as  descending  the  stairs,  in  her 
fur  coat,  and  beside  her — or  rather  arm-in-arm  with  her — walked 
a  tall  and  severe-looking  officer,  wearing  a  uniform  and  a  sword, 
and  followed  by  a  footman  carrying  his  great-coat.  This  was  the 
baron,  who  was  a  colonel  of  five-and-thirty,  a  typical  smart 
officer,  thin,  with  rather  too  long  a  face,  ginger  moustache  and 
even  eyelashes  of  the  same  colour.  Though  his  face  was  quite 
ugly,  it  had  a  resolute  and  defiant  expression.  I  describe  him 
briefly,  as  I  saw  him  at  that  moment.  I  had  never  seen  him  be- 
fore. I  ran  down  the  stairs  after  them  without  a  hat  or  coat. 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  was  the  first  to  notice  me,  and  she  hurriedly 
whispered  something  to  her  companion.  He  slightly  turned  his 
head  and  then  made  a  sign  to  the  footman  and  the  hall-porter. 
The  footman  took  a  step  towards  me  at  the  front  door,  but  I 
pushed  him  away  and  rushed  after  them  out  on  the  steps.  Biiring 
was  assisting  Katerina  Nikolaevna  into  the  carriage. 

"  Katerina  Nikolaevna  !  Katerina  Nikolaevna  !  "  I  cried 
senselessly  like  a  fool  !  like  a  fool !  Oh,  I  remember  it  all ; 
I  had  no  hat  on  ! 

Biiring  turned  savagely  to  the  footman  again  and  shouted 
something  to  him  loudly,  one  or  two  words,  I  did  not  take  them 
in.  I  felt  some  one  clutch  me  by  the  elbow.  At  that  moment  the 
carriage  began  to  move  ;  I  shouted  again  and  was  rushing  after 
the  carriage.  I  saw  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  was  peeping  out  of 
the  carriage  window,  and  she  seemed  much  perturbed.  But  in 
my  hasty  movement  I  jostled  against  Biiring  unconsciously,  and 
trod  on  his  foot,  hurting  him  a  good  deal,  I  fancy.  He  uttered  a 
faint  cry,  clenched  his  teeth,  with  a  powerful  hand  grasped  me  by 
the  shoulder,  and  angrily  pushed  me  away,  so  that  I  wae  sent 

313 


flying  a  couple  of  yards.  At  that  instant  his  great-coat  was 
handed  him,  he  put  it  on,  got  into  his  sledge,  and  once  more 
shouted  angrily  to  the  footman  and  the  porter,  pointing  to  me 
as  he  did  so.  Thereupon  they  seized  me  and  held  me  ;  one 
footman  flung  my  great-coat  on  me,  while  a  second  handed  me  my 
hat  and — I  don't  remember  what  they  said  ;  they  said  something, 
and  I  stood  and  listened,  understanding  nothing  of  it.  All  at  once 
I  left  them  and  ran  away. 


Seeing  nothing  and  jostling  against  people  as  I  went,  I  ran  till 
I  reached  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  flat :  it  did  not  even  occur  to  me 
to  take  a  cab.  Buring  had  pushed  me  away  before  her  eyes  I 
I  had,  to  be  sure,  stepped  on  his  foot,  and  he  had  thrust  me  away 
instinctively  as  a  man  who  had  trodden  on  his  com — and  perhaps 
I  really  had  trodden  on  his  com  !  But  she  had  seen  it,  and  had 
seen  me  seized  by  the  footman  ;  it  had  all  happened  before  Her, 
before  her !  When  I  had  reached  Tatyana  Pavlovna's,  for  the 
first  minute  I  could  say  nothing  and  my  lower  jaw  was  trembling, 
as  though  I  were  in  a  fever.  And  indeed  I  was  in  a  fever  and 
what's  more  I  was  crying.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  had  been  so  insulted  ! 

"  What !  Have  they  kicked  you  out  ?  Serve  you  right ! 
serve  you  right !  "  said  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  I  sank  on  the  sofa 
without  a  word  and  looked  at  her. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  she  said,  looking  at  me 
intently.  "Come,  drink  some  water,  drink  a  glass  of  water, 
drink  it  up  !    Tell  me  what  you've  been  up  to  there  now  ?  " 

I  muttered  that  I  had  been  turned  out,  and  that  Buring  had 
given  me  a  push  in  the  open  street. 

"  Can  you  imderstand  an3^hing,  or  are  you  still  incapable  ? 
Come  here,  read  and  admire  it."  And  taking  a  letter  from  the 
table  she  gave  it  to  me,  and  stood  before  me  expectantly.  I 
at  once  recognized  Versilov's  writing,  it  consisted  of  a  few  lines  : 
it  was  a  letter  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna.  I  shuddered  and  in- 
stantly comprehension  came  back  to  me  in  a  rush.  The  contents 
of  this  horrible,  atrocious,  grotesque  and  blackguardly  letter  were 
as  follows,  word  for  word  : 

"  Dear  Madam 

Katerina  Nikolaevna. 
Depraved  as  you  are  in  your  nature  and  your  arts,  I  should  have 
yet  expected  you  to  restrain  your  passions  and  not  to  try  your 

34 


wiles  on  children.  But  you  are  not  even  ashamed  to  do  that. 
I  beg  to  inform  you  that  the  letter  you  know  of  was  certainly 
not  burnt  in  a  candle  and  never  was  in  Kraft's  possession,  so  you 
won't  score  anything  there.  So  don't  seduce  a  boy  for  nothing. 
Spare  him,  he  is  hardly  grown  up,  almost  a  child,  undeveloped 
mentally  and  physically — what  use  can  you  have  for  him  ?  I 
am  interested  in  his  welfare,  and  so  I  have  ventured  to  write  to 
you,  though  with  little  hope  of  attaining  my  object.  I  have 
the  honour  to  inform  you  that  I  have  sent  a  copy  of  this  letter 
to  Baron  Buring.  "A.  Versilov." 

I  turned  white  as  I  read,  then  suddenly  I  flushed  crimson  and 
my  lips  quivered  with  indignation. 

"  He  writes  that  about  me  !  About  what  I  told  him  the  day 
before  yesterday  !  "  I  cried  in  a  fury. 

"  So  you  did  tell  him  !  "  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  snatching  the 
letter  from  me. 

"  But  ...  I  didn't  say  that,  I  did  not  say  that  at  all !  Good 
God,  what  can  she  think  of  me  now !  But  it's  madness,  you  know. 
He's  mad  ...  I  saw  him  yesterday.  When  was  the  letter 
sent  ?  " 

"  It  was  sent  yesterday,  early  in  the  day  ;  it  reached  her  in 
the  evening,  and  this  morning  she  gave  it  me  herself." 

"  But  I  saw  him  yesterday  myself,  he's  mad  !  Versilov  was 
incapable  of  writing  that,  it  was  written  by  a  madman.  Who 
could  write  like  that  to  a  woman  ?  " 

"  That's  just  what  such  madmen  do  write  in  a  fury  when  they 
are  blind  and  deaf  from  jealovisy  and  spite,  and  their  blood  ia 
turned  to  venom.  .  .  .  You  did  not  know  what  he  is  like  ! 
Now  they  will  pound  him  to  a  jelly.  He  has  thrust  his  head 
imder  the  axe  himself  !  He'd  better  have  gone  at  night  to  the 
Nikolaevsky  railway  and  have  laid  his  head  on  the  rail.  They'd 
have  cut  it  off  for  him,  if  he's  weary  of  the  weight  of  it !  What 
possessed  you  to  tell  him  !  What  induced  you  to  tease  him  ! 
Did  you  want  to  boast  ?  " 

"  But  what  hatred !  What  hatred  !  "  I  cried,  clapping  my 
hand  on  my  head.  "  And  what  for,  what  for  ?  Of  a  woman  ! 
What  has  she  done  to  him  ?  What  can  there  have  been  between 
them  that  he  can  write  a  letter  like  that  ?  " 

"  Ha — atred  !  "  Tatyana  Pavlovna  mimicked  me  with  furious 
sarcasm. 

The    blood    rushed    to     my    face    again  ;    all    at    once    I 

315 


seemed  to  grasp  something  new  ;  I  gazed  at  her  with  searching 
inquiry. 

"  Get  along  with  you  !  "  she  shrieked,  turning  away  from  me 
quickly  and  waving  me  off.  "  I've  had  bother  enough  with  you 
all !  I've  had  enough  of  it  now  !  You  may  all  sink  into  the 
earth  for  all  I  care  !  .  .  .  Your  mother  is  the  only  one  I'm  sorry 
for  .  .  ." 

I  ran,  of  coiirse,  to  Versilov.  But  what  treachery  I  What 
treachery ! 


Versilov  was  not  alone.    To  explain  the  position  beforehand  : 
after  sending  that  letter  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna  the  day  before 
and  actually  dispatching  a  copy  of  it  to  Baron  Buring  (God  only 
knows  why),  naturally  he  was  bound  to  expect  certain  "  conse- 
quences "  of  his  action  in  the  course  of  to-day,  and  so  had  taken 
measiires  of  a  sort.     He  had  in  the  morning  moved  my  mother 
upstairs  to  my  "coffin,"  together  with  Liza,  who,  as  I  learned 
afterwards,  had  been  taken  ill  when  she  got  home,  and  had  gone 
to  bed.     The  other  rooms,  especially  the  drawing-room,  had  been 
scrubbed  and  tidied  up  with  extra  care.     And  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  a  certain  Baron  R.  did  in  fact  make  his  appearance. 
He  was  a  colonel,  a  tall   thin  gentleman  about  forty,  a   Uttle 
bald,  of  German  origin,  with  ginger-coloured  hair  like  Buring's, 
and  a  look  of  great  physical  strength.      He  was  one  of  those 
Baron  R.s  of  whom  there  are  so  many  in  the  Russian  army,  all 
men  of  the  highest  baronial  dignity,  entirely  without  means, 
living  on  their  pay,  and  all  zealous  and  conscientious  officers. 

I  did  not  come  in  time  for  the  beginning  of  their  interview ; 
both  were  very  much  excited,  and  they  might  well  be.  Versilov 
was  sitting  on  the  sofa  facing  the  table,  and  the  baron  was  in  an 
armchair  on  one  side,  Versilov  was  pale,  but  he  spoke  with 
restraint,  dropping  out  his  words  one  by  one  ;  the  baron  raised 
his  voice  and  was  evidently  given  to  violent  gesticulation.  He 
restrained  himself  with  an  effort,  but  he  looked  stem,  super- 
cihoua,  and  even  contemptuous,  though  somewhat  astonished. 
Seeing  me  he  frowned,  but  Versilov  seemed  almost  reUeved  at 
my  coming. 

"  Good-morning,  dear  boy.  Baron,  this  is  the  very  young 
man  mentioned  in  the  letter,  and  I  assure  you  he  will  not  be  in 
your  way,  and  may  indeed  be  of  use."     (The  baron  looked  at  me 

316 


contemptuously.)  "  My  dear  boy,"  Versilov  went  on,  "I  am 
glad  that  you've  come,  indeed,  so  sit  down  in  the  comer  please, 
till  the  baron  and  I  have  finished.  Don't  be  uneasy,  baron,  he 
will  simply  sit  in  the  comer." 

I  did  not  care,  for  I  had  made  up  my  mind,  and  besides  all  this 
impressed  me  :  I  sat  down  in  the  corner  without  speaking,  as  far 
back  as  I  could,  and  went  on  sitting  there  without  stirring  or 
blinking  an  eyelid  till  the  interview  was  over.  .  .  . 

"  I  tell  you  again,  baron,"  said  Versilov,  rapping  out  his  words 
resolutely,  "  that  I  consider  Katerina  Nikolaevna  Ahmakov,  to 
whom  I  wrote  that  unworthy  and  insane  letter,  not  only  the  soul 
of  honour,  but  the  acme  of  all  perfection  !  " 

"  Such  a  disavowal  of  your  own  words,  as  I  have  observed  to 
you  already,  is  equivalent  to  a  repetition  of  the  offence,"  growled 
the  baron ;  "your  words  are  actually  lacking  in  respect." 

"  And  yet  it  would  be  nearest  the  truth  if  you  take  them  in 
their  exact  sense.  I  suffer,  do  you  see,  from  nervous  attacks, 
and  .  .  .  nervous  ailments,  and  am  in  fact  being  treated  for 
them  and  therefore  it  has  happened  in  one  such  moment  .  .  ." 

"  These  explanations  cannot  be  admitted.  I  tell  you  for  the 
third  time  that  you  are  persistently  mistaken,  perhaps  purposely 
wish  to  be  mistaken.  I  have  warned  you  from  the  very  beginning 
that  the  whole  question  concerning  that  lady,  that  is  concerning 
уош:  letter  to  IVIme.  Ahmakov,  must  be  entirely  excluded  from  our 
explanation  ;  you  keep  going  back  to  it.  Baron  Biiring  begged 
and  particularly  charged  me  to  make  it  plain  that  this  matter 
concerns  him  only ;  that  is,  your  insolence  in  sending  him  that 
'  copy  '  and  the  postcript  to  it  in  which  you  write  that  '  you  are 
ready  to  answer  for  it  when  and  how  he  pleases.'  " 

"  But  that,  I  imagine,  is  quite  clear  without  explanation." 
"  I  understand,  I  hear.  You  do  not  even  offer  an  apology,  but 
persist  in  asserting  that '  you  are  ready  to  answer  for  it  when  and 
how  he  pleases.'  But  that  would  be  getting  off  too  cheaply. 
And  therefore  I  now,  in  view  of  the  turn  which  you  obstinately 
will  give  to  your  explanation,  feel  myself  justified  on  my  side  in 
telling  you  the  truth  without  ceremony,  that  is,  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  is  ut-ter-ly  impossible  for  Baron  Biiring  to 
meet  you  ...  on  an  equal  footing." 

"  Such  a  decision  is  no  doubt  advantageous  for  your  friend, 
Baron  Biiring,  and  I  must  confess  you  have  not  surprised  me  in 
the  least :  I  was  expecting  it." 

I  note  in  parenthesis  :    it  was  quite  evident  to  me  from  the 

317 


first  word  and  the  first  glance  that  Versilov  was  trying  to  lead 
up  to  this  outburst,  that  he  was  intentionally  teasing  and  pro- 
voking this  irascible  baron,  and  was  trying  to  put  him  out  of 
patience.     The  baron  bristled  all  over. 

"  I  have  heard  that  you  are  able  to  be  witty,  but  being  witty 
is  very  different  from  being  clever." 

"  An  extremely  profoimd  observation,  colonel." 

"  I  did  not  ask  for  your  approbation,"  cried  the  baron,  "  I  did 
not  come  to  bandy  words  with  you.  Be  so  good  as  to  listen. 
Baron  Buring  was  in  doubt  how  to  act  when  he  received  your 
letter,  because  it  was  suggestive  of  a  madhouse.  And,  of  course, 
means  might  be  taken  to  .  .  .  suppress  you.  However,  owing 
to  certain  special  considerations,  your  case  was  treated  with 
indulgence  and  inquiries  were  made  about  you  :  it  turns  out  that 
though  you  have  belonged  to  good  society,  and  did  at  one  time 
serve  in  the  Guards,  you  have  been  excluded  from  society  and 
yoiu*  reputation  is  dubious.  Yet  in  spite  of  that  I've  come  here  to 
ascertain  the  facts  personally,  and  now,  to  make  things  worse, 
you  don't  scruple  to  play  with  words,  and  inform  me  yourself 
that  you  are  Uable  to  nervous  attacks.  It's  enough  !  Baron 
Btiring's  position  and  reputation  are  such  that  he  cannot  stoop 
to  be  mixed  up  in  such  an  affair.  ...  in  short,  I  am  authorized, 
sir,  to  inform  you,  that  if  a  repetition  or  anything  similar  to  your 
recent  action  should  follow  hereafter,  measures  will  promptly  be 
found  to  bring  you  to  your  senses,  very  quickly  and  very 
thoroughly  I  can  assure  you.  We  are  not  living  in  the  jungle, 
but  in  a  well  ordered  state  !  " 

"  You  are  so  certain  of  that,  my  good  baron  ?  " 

"  Confound  you,"  cried  the  baron,  suddenly  getting  up ; 
"you  tempt  me  to  show  you  at  once  that  I  am  not  '  your  good 
baron.' " 

"  Ach,  I  must  warn  you  once  again,"  said  Versilov,  and  he  too 
stood  up,  "  that  my  wife  and  daughter  are  not  far  off  .  .  . 
and  so  I  must  ask  you  not  to  speak  so  loud,  for  your  shouts  may 
reach  their  ears." 

"  Your  wife  .  .  .  the  devil  ...  I  am  sitting  here  talking 
to  you  solely  in  order  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  disgusting 
business,"  the  baron  continued  as  wrathfully  as  before,  not  drop- 
ping his  voice  in  the  least.  "  Enough  !  "  he  roared  furiously, 
"  you  are  not  only  excluded  from  the  society  of  decent  people, 
but  you're  a  maniac,  a  regular  raving  maniac,  and  such  you've 
been  proved  to  be  !     You  do  not  deserve  indulgence,  and  I  can 

318 


tell  you  that  this  very  day  measures  will  be  taken  in  regard  to 
you  .  .  .  and  you  will  be  placed  where  they  will  know  how  to 
restore  you  to  sanity  .  .  .  and  will  remove  you  from  the  town." 

He  marched  with  rapid  strides  out  of  the  room.  Versilov  did 
not  accompany  him  to  the  door.  He  stood  gazing  at  me  absent- 
mindedly,  as  though  he  did  not  see  me  ;  aU  at  once  he  smiled, 
tossed  back  his  hair,  and  taking  his  hat,  he  too  made  for  the  door. 
I  clutched  at  his  hand. 

"  Ach,  yes,  you  are  here  too.  You  .  .  .  heard  ?  "  he  said, 
stopping  short  before  me. 

"  How  could  you  do  it  ?  How  could  you  distort  .  .  .  disgrace 
.  .  .  with  such  treachery  !  " 

He  looked  at  me  intently,  his  smile  broadened  and  broadened 
till  it  passed  into  actual  laughter. 

"  Why,  I've  been  disgraced  .  .  .  before  her  !  before  her  ! 
They  laughed  at  me  before  her  eyes,  and  he  .  .  .  and  he  pushed 
me  away  !  "  I  cried,  beside  myself. 

"  ReaUy  ?  Ach,  poor  boy,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  ...  So  they 
laughed  at  you,  did  they  ?  " 

"  You  are  laughing  yourself,  you  are  laughing  at  me  ;  it 
amuses  you !  " 

He  quickly  pulled  his  hand  away,  put  on  his  hat  and  laughing, 
laughing  aloud,  went  out  of  the  flat.  What  was  the  use  of  run- 
ning after  him  ?  I  imderstood  and — I  had  lost  everything  in  one 
instant !  All  at  once  I  saw  my  mother  ;  she  had  come  down- 
stairs and  was  timidly  looking  about  her. 

"  Has  he  gone  away  ?  " 

I  put  my  arms  around  her  without  a  word,  and  she  held  me 
tight  in  hers. 

"  Mother,  my  own,  surely  you  can't  stay  ?  Let  us  go  at  once, 
I  will  shelter  you,  I  will  work  for  you  like  a  slave,  for  you  and  for 
Liza.  Leave  them  all,  all,  and  let  us  go  away.  Let  us  be  alone. 
Mother,  do  you  remember  how  you  came  to  me  at  Touchard's 
and  I  would  not  recognise  you  ?  " 

"  I  remember,  my  owi^  ;  I  have  been  bad  to  you  all  уош"  life. 
You  were  my  own  child,  and  I  was  a  stranger  to  you." 

"  That  was  his  fault,  mother,  it  was  all  his  fault ;  he  has  never 
loved  us." 

"  Yes,  yes,  he  did  love  us.* 

"  Let  us  go,  mother." 

"  How  could  I  go  away  from  him,  do  you  suppose  he  is  happy?'* 

"  Where's  Liza  ?  " 

3^9 


"  She's  lying  down  ;  she  felt  ill  when  she  came  in  ;  I'm 
frightened.  Why  are  they  so  angry  with  him  ?  What  will  they 
do  to  him  now  1  Where's  he  gone  ?  What  was  that  officer 
threatening  ?  " 

"  Nothing  will  happen  to  him,  mother,  nothing  does  happen 
to  him,  or  ever  can  happen  to  him.  He's  that  sort  of  man  ! 
Here's  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  ask  her,  if  you  don't  beheve  me,  here 
she  is."  (Tatyana  Pavlovna  came  quickly  into  the  room.) 
"  Good-bye,  mother.  I  will  come  to  you  directly,  and  when  I 
come,  I  shall  ask  you  the  same  thing  again.  .  .  ." 

I  ran  away.  I  could  not  bear  to  see  anyone,  let  alone  Tatyana 
Pavlovna.  Even  mother  distressed  me.  I  wanted  to  be  alone, 
alone. 


5 

But  before  I  had  crossed  the  street,  I  felt  that  I  could  hardly 
walk,  and  I  jostled  aimlessly,  heedlessly,  against  the  passers-by, 
feeling  listless  and  adrift ;  but  what  could  I  do  with  myself  ? 
What  use  am  I  to  anyone,  and — what  use  is  anything  to  me 
now  ?  Mechanically  I  trudged  to  Prince  Sergay's,  though  I 
was  not  thinking  of  him  at  all.  He  was  not  at  home.  I  told 
Pyotr  (his  man)  that  I  would  wait  in  his  study  (as  I  had  done 
many  times  before).  His  study  was  a  large  one,  a  very  high 
room,  cumbered  up  with  furniture.  I  crept  into  the  darkest 
comer,  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and,  putting  my  elbows  on  the  table, 
rested  my  head  in  my  hands.  Yes,  that  wa^  the  question  : 
"  what  was  of  any  use  to  me  now  ?  "  If  I  wae  able  to  formulate 
that  question  then,  I  was  totally  unable  to  Answer  it. 

But  I  could  not  myself  answer  the  question,  or  think  about 
it  rationally.  I  have  mentioned  already  that  towards  the  end  of 
those  days  I  was  overwhelmed  by  the  rush  of  events.  I  sat  now, 
and  everj'thing  was  whirling  roimd  like  chaos  in  my  mind.  "  Yes, 
I  had  failed  to  see  all  that  was  in  him,  and  did  not  understand 
him  at  all,"  was  the  thought  that  glimmered  dimly  in  my  mind 
at  moments.  "  He  laughed  in  my  face  just  now  :  that  was  not 
at  me,  it  was  all  Buring  then,  not  me.  The  day  before  yesterday 
he  knew  everything  and  he  was  gloomy.  He  pounced  on  ray 
stupid  confession  in  the  restaiu'ant,  and  distorted  it,  regardless 
of  the  truth ;  but  what  did  he  care  for  the  truth  ?  He  did  not 
believe  a  syllable  of  what  he  wrote  to  her.  All  he  wanted  was  to 
insult  her,  to  insult  her  senselessly,  \vithout  knowing  what  for; 

320 


he  was  looking  out  for  a  pretext  and  I  gave  him  the  pretext.  .  .  . 
He  behaved  like  a  mad  dog  !  Does  he  want  to  kill  During  now  ? 
What  for  ?  His  heart  knows  what  for  !  And  I  know  nothing  of 
what's  in  his  heart,  .  .  .  No,  no,  I  don't  know  even  now.  Can 
it  be  that  he  loves  her  with  such  passion  ?  Or  doee  he  hate  her 
to  such  a  pitch  of  passion  ?  I  don't  know,  but  does  he  know 
himself  ?  Why  did  I  tell  mother  that  '  nothing  could  happen 
to  him  '  ;  what  did  I  mean  to  say  by  that  ?  Have  I  lost  him 
or  haven't  I  ? 

"...  She  saw  how  I  was  pushed  away.  .  .  .  Did  she  laugh 
too,  or  not  ?  I  should  have  laughed  !  They  were  beating  a 
spy,  a  spy.  ... 

"  What  does  it  mean,  "  suddenly  flashed  on  my  mind,  "  what 
does  it  mean  that  in  that  luatlisome  letter  he  puts  in  that  the 
document  has  not  been  biurnt,  but  is  in  existence  ?  .  .  . 

"  He  is  not  killing  Biiring  but  is  sitting  at  this  moment,  no 
doubt,  in  the  restaurant  listening  to  '  Lucia  '  !  And  perhaps  after 
Lucia  he  will  go  and  kill  Biiring.  Biiring  pushed  me  away, 
almost  struck  me  ;  did  he  strike  me  ?  •  And  Biiring  disdains  to 
fight  even  Versilov,  so  would  he  be  likely  to  fight  with  me  ? 
Perhaps  I  ought  to  kill  him  to-morrow  with  a  revolver,  waiting 
for  him  in  the  street.  ..."  I  let  that  thought  flit  through  my 
naind  quite  mechanically  without  being  brought  to  a  pause  by  it. 

At  moments  I  seemed  to  dream  that  the  door  would  open  all 
at  once,  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  would  come  in,  would  give  me 
her  hand,  and  we  should  both  burst  out  laughing.  .  .  .  Oh,  my 
student,  my  dear  one  !  I  had  a  vision  of  this,  or  rather  an  intense 
longing  for  it,  as  soon  as  it  got  dark.  It  was  not  long  ago  I  had 
been  standing  before  her  saying  good-bye  to  her,  and  she  had 
given  me  her  hand,  and  laughed.  How  could  it  have  happened 
that  in  such  a  short  time  we  were  so  completely  separated  ! 
Simply  to  go  to  her  and  to  explain  everything  this  minute, 
simply,  simply  !  Good  heavens  !  how  was  it  that  an  utterly  new 
world  had  begun  for  me  so  suddenly  !  Yes,  a  new  world,  utterly, 
utterly  new. .  .  .  AndLiza,  and  Prince  Sergay,  that  was  all  old.  .  .  . 
Here  I  was  now  at  Prince  Sergay's.  And  mother — how  could  she 
go  on  living  with  him  if  it  was  like  this  !  I  could,  I  can  do  any- 
thing, but  she  ?  What  will  be  now  ?  And  the  figures  of  Liza, 
Anna  Andreyevna,  Stebelkov,  Prince  Sergay,  Aferdov,  kept 
disconnectedly  whirling  round  in  my  sick  brain.  But  my 
thoughts  became  more  and  more  formless  and  elusive  ;  I  was  glad 
when  I  succeeded  in  thinking  of  something  and  clutching  at  it. 

321 


"  I  have  '  my  idea  '  !  "  I  thought  suddenly  ;  "  but  have  I  ? 
Don't  I  repeat  that  from  habit  ?  My  idea  was  the  fruit  of  dark- 
ness and  solitude,  and  is  it  possible  to  creep  back  into  the  old 
darkness  1  Oh,  my  God,  I  never  burnt  that  '  letter '  !  I 
actually  forgot  to  bum  it  the  day  before  yesterday.  I  will  go 
back  and  bum  it  in  a  candle,  in  a  candle  of  course ;  only  I 
don't  know  if  I'm  thinking  properly.  .  .  ." 

It  had  long  been  dark  and  Pyotr  brought  candles.  He  stood 
over  me  and  asked  whether  I  had  had  supper.  I  simply 
motioned  him  away.  An  hour  later,  however,  he  brought  me 
some  tea,  and  I  greedily  drank  a  large  cupful.  Then  I  asked 
what  time  it  was  ?  It  was  half -past  eight,  and  I  felt  no  surprise 
to  find  I  had  been  sitting  there  five  hours. 

"  I  have  been  in  to  you  three  times  already,"  said  Pyotr,  "  but 
I  think  you  were  asleep." 

I  did  not  remember  his  coming  in.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I 
felt  all  at  once  horribly  scared  to  think  I  had  been  asleep.  I  got 
up  and  walked  about  the  room,  that  I  might  not  go  to  sleep  again. 
At  last  my  head  began  to  ache  violently.  At  ten  o'clock  Prince 
Sergay  came  in  and  I  was  surprised  that  I  had  been  waiting  for 
him  :  I  had  completely  forgotten  him,  completely. 

"  You  are  here,  and  I've  been  round  to  you  to  fetch 
you,"  he  said  to  me.  His  face  looked  gloomy  and  severe,  and 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  a  smile.  There  was  a  fixed  idea  in 
his  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  doing  my  very  utmost  all  day  and  8<>raining  every 
nerve,"  he  said  with  concentrated  intensity  ;  "  everything  has 
failed,  and  nothing  in  the  future,  but  horror.  .  .  ."  (N.B. — he  had 
not  been  to  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch's.)  "  I  have  seen  Zhibyelsky, 
he  is  an  impossible  person.  You  see,  to  begin  with  we  must  get 
the  money,  then  we  shall  see.  And  if  we  don't  succeed  with  the 
money,  then  we  shall  see.  ...  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to 
think  about  that.  If  only  we  get  hold  of  the  money  to-day, 
to-morrow  we  shall  see  everjrthing.  The  three  thousand  you 
won  is  still  untouched,  every  farthing  of  it.  It's  three  thousand 
all  except  three  roubles.  After  paying  back  what  I  lent  you, 
there  is  three  himdred  and  forty  roubles  change  for  you.  Take 
it.  Another  seven  hundred  as  well,  to  make  up  a  thousand,  and 
I  will  take  the  other  two  thousand.  Then  let  us  both  go  to 
Zerstchikov  and  try  at  opposite  ends  of  the  table  to  win  ten 
thousand — perhaps  we  shall  do  something,  if  we  don't  win  it — 
then.  .  .  .  This  is  the  only  way  left,  anyhow." 

322 


He  looked  at  me  with  a  fateful  smile. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  I  cried  suddenly,  as  though  coming  to  life  again  ; 
"  let  us  go.     I  was  only  waiting  for  you.  ..." 

I  may  remark  that  I  had  never  once  thought  of  roulette  during 
those  hours. 

"  But  the  baseness  ?  The  degradation  of  the  action  ?  *'  Prince 
Sergay  asked  suddenly. 

"  Our  going  to  roulette  !  Why  that's  everything,"  I  cried, 
"  monej^'s  everything.  Why,  you  and  I  are  the  only  saints, 
while  Buring  has  sold  himself,  Anna  Andreyevna's  sold  herself, 
and  Versilov — have  you  heard  that  Versilov's  a  maniac  ?  A 
maniac  !     A  maniac  !  " 

"  Are  you  quite  well,  Arkady  Makarovitch  ?  Your  eyes  are 
somehow  strange." 

"  You  say  that  because  you  want  to  go  without  me  !  But  I 
shall  stick  to  you  now.  It's  not  for  nothing  I've  been  dreaming 
of  play  all  night.  Let  us  go,  let  us  go  !  "  I  kept  exclaiming,  as 
though  I  had  found  the  solution  to  everything. 

"  W^ll,  let  us  go,  though  you're  in  a  fever,  and  there  .  .  ." 

He  did  not  finish.  His  face  looked  heavy  and  terrible.  We 
were  just  going  out  when  he  stopped  in  the  doorway. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  that  there  is  another  way 
out  of  my  trouble,  besides  play  ?  " 

"  What  way." 

"  A  princely  way.'* 

"  What's  that  ?     What's  that  ?  " 

"  You'll  know  what  afterwards.  Only  let  me  tell  you  I'm 
not  worthy  of  it,  because  I  have  delayed  too  long.  Let  us  go, 
but  you  remember  my  words.  We'll  try  the  lackey's  way.  .  .  . 
And  do  you  suppose  I  don.'t  know  that  I  am  consciously,  of  my 
own  free  will,  behaving  like  a  lackey  1  " 


e 

T  flew  to  the  roulette  table  as  though  in  it  were  concentrated 
all  hopes  of  my  salvation,  all  means  of  escape,  and  yet  as  I  have 
mentioned  already,  I  had  not  once  thought  of  it  before  Prince 
Sergay 's  airival.  Moreover,  I  was  going  to  gamble,  not  for  myself 
but  for  Prince  Sergay,  and  with  his  money  ;  I  can't  explain  what 
was  the  attraction,  but  it  was  an  irresistible  attraction.  Oh, 
never  had  those  people,  those  faces,  those  croupiers  with  their 

323 


monotonous  shouts,  all  the  details  of  the  squalid  gambling  saloon 
seemed  so  revolting  to  me,  so  depressing,  so  coarse,  and  so 
melancholy  as  that  evening  !  I  remember  well  the  sadness  and 
misery  that  gripped  my  heart  at  times  during  those  hours  at  the 
gambling  table.  But  why  didn't  I  go  away  ?  Why  did  I 
endure  and,  as  it  were,  accept  this  fate,  this  sacrifice,  this 
devotion  ?  I  will  only  say  one  thing  :  I  can  hardly  say  of  myself 
that  I  was  then  in  my  right  senses.  Yet  at  the  same  time,  I 
had  never  played  so  prudently  as  that  evening.  I  was  silent 
and  concentrated,  attentive  and  extremely  calculating  ;  I  was 
patient  and  niggardly,  and  at  the  same  time  resolute  at  critical 
moments.  I  estabhshed  myself  again  at  the  zero  end  of  the  table, 
that  is  between  Zerstchikov  and  Aferdov,  who  always  sat  on  the 
former's  right  hand  ;  the  place  was  distasteful  to  me,  but  I  had 
an  overwhelming  desire  to  stake  on  zero,  and  all  the  other  places 
at  that  end  were  taken.  We  had  been  playing  over  an  hoiu: ; 
at  last,  from  my  place,  I  saw  Prince  Sergay  get  up  from  his  seat 
and  with  a  pale  face  move  across  to  us  and  remaia  facing  me  the 
other  side  of  the  table  :  he  had  lost  all  he  had  and  watched  my 
play  in  silence,  though  he  probably  did  not  follow  it  and  had 
ceased  to  think  of  play.  At  that  moment  I  just  began  winning, 
and  Zerstchikov  was  counting  me  out  what  I  had  won.  Suddenly, 
without  a  word,  Aferdov  with  the  utmost  effrontery  took  one  of 
my  hundred-rouble  notes  before  my  very  eyes  and  added  it  to  the 
pile  of  money  lying  before  him.  I  cried  out,  and  caught  hold  of 
his  hand.  Then  something  quite  unexpected  hapj>ene^  to  me  : 
it  was  as  though  I  had  broken  some  chain  that  restrained  me, 
as  though  all  the  affronts  and  insults  of  that  day  were  concen- 
trated in  that  moment  in  the  loss  of  that  hundred-rouble  note. 
It  was  as  though  everything  that  had  been  accumulating  and 
suppressed  within  me  had  only  been  waiting  for  that  moment  to 
break  out. 

"  He's  a  thief,  he  has  just  stolen  my  hundred  roubles,"  I 
exclaimed,  looking  round,  beside  myself. 

I  won't  describe  the  hubbub  that  followed  ;  such  a  scandal  was 
a  novelty  there.  At  Zerstchikov's,  people  behaved  with  propriety, 
and  his  saloon  was  famous  for  it.  But  I  did  not  know  what  I  was 
doing.  Zerstchikov's  voice  was  suddenly  heard  in  the  midst  of 
the  clamour  and  din  : 

"  But  the  money's  not  here,  and  it  was  lying  here  !  Four 
hundred  roubles  !  " 

Aj  other  scene  followed  at  once  ;  the  money  in  the  bank  had 

324 


disappeared  under  Zerstchikov's  very  nose,  a  roll  of  four  hundred 
roubles.  Zerstchikov  pointed  to  the  spot  where  the  notes  had 
only  that  minute  been  lying,  and  that  spot  t\imed  out  to  be  close 
to  me,  next  to  the  spot  where  my  money  was  lying,  much  closer 
to  me  than  to  Aferdov. 

"  The  thief  is  here  !  he  has  stolen  it  again,  search  him  !  "  I  cried 
pointing  to  Aferdov. 

"  This  is  what  comes  of  letting  in  all  sorts  of  people,"  thundered 
an  impressive  voice  in  the  midst  of  the  general  uproar.  ''  Persons 
have  been  admitted  without  introduction  !  Who  brought  him 
in  ?     Who  Ls  he  ?  " 

"  A  fellow  called  Dolgoruky." 
"  Prince  Dolgoruky  ?  " 

"  Prince  Sokolsky  brought  him,"  cried  some  one. 
"  Listen,  prince,"  I  yelled  to  him  across  the  table  in  a  frenzy ; 
"  they  think  I'm  a  thief  when  I've  just  been  robbed  myself  ! 
Tell  them  about  me,  tell  them  about  me  !  " 

And  then  there  followed  something  worse  than  all  that  had 
happened  that  day  .  .  .  worse  than  anything  that  had  happened 
in  my  life  :  Prince  Sergay  disowned  me.  I  saw  him  shrug  his 
shoulders  and  heard  him  in  answer  to  a  stream  of  questions 
pronounce  sharply  and  distinctly  : 

"  I  am  not  responsible  for  anyone.     Please  leave  me  alone." 

Meanwhile  Aferdov  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  crowd  loudly 
demanding  that  "  he  shovild  be  searched."  He  kept  turning  out 
his  own  pockets.  But  his  demands  were  met  by  shouts  of  '*  No, 
no,  we  know  the  thief  !  " 

Two  footmen  were  summoned  and  they  seized  me  by  my  arms 
from  behind. 

"  I  won't  let  myself  be  searched,  I  won't  allow  it !  "  I  shouted, 
pulling  myself  away. 

But  they  dragged  me  into  the  next  room  ;  there,  in  the  midst  of 
the  crowd,  they  searched  me  to  the  last  fold  of  my  garments. 
I  screamed  and  struggled. 

"  He  must  have  thrown  it  away,  you  must  look  on  the  floor," 
some  one  decided. 

"  Where  can  we  look  on  the  floor  now  ?  " 

"  Under  the  table,  he  must  have  somehow  managed  to  throw 
it  away." 

"  Of  course  there's  no  trace  .  .  ." 

I  was  led  out,  but  I  succeeded  in  stopping  in  the  doorway,  and 
with  senseless  ferocity  I  shouted,  to  be  heard  by  the  whole  saloon  : 

325 


"  Roulette  is  prohibited  by  the  police.  I  shall  inform  against 
you  all  to-day  !  " 

I  was  led  downstairs.  My  hat  and  coat  were  put  on  me,  and 
.  .  .  the  door  into  the  street  was  flung  open  before  me. 


CHAPTER  IX 


The  day  had  ended  with  a  catastrophe,  there  remained  the 
night,  and  this  is  what  I  remember  of  that  night. 

I  believe  it  was  one  o'clock  when  I  found  myself  in  the  street. 
It  was  a  clear,  still  and  frosty  night,  I  was  almost  running  and 
in  horrible  haste,  but — not  towards  home. 

"  Why  home  ?  Can  there  be  a  home  now  ?  Home  is  where 
one  lives,  I  shall  wake  up  to-morrow  to  live — but  is  that  possible 
now  ?  Life  is  over,  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  live  now,"  I 
thought. 

And  as  I  wandered  about  the  streets,  not  noticing  where  I 
was  going,  and  indeed  I  don't  know  whether  I  meant  to  run 
anywhere  in  particular,  I  was  very  hot  and  I  was  continually 
flinging  open  my  heavy  raccoon-lined  coat.  "  No  sort  of  action 
can  have  any  object  for  me  now  "  was  what  I  felt  at  that  moment. 
And  strange  to  say,  it  seemed  to  me  that  everything  about  me, 
even  the  air  I  breathed,  was  from  another  planet,  as  though  I 
had  suddenly  found  myself  in  the  moon.  Everything — the 
town,  the  passers-by,  the  pavement  I  was  running  on — all  of 
these  were  not  mine.  "  This  is  the  Palace  Square,  and  here  is 
St.  Isaak's,"  floated  across  my  mind.  "  But  now  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  them."  Everything  had  become  suddenly  remote, 
it  had  all  suddenly  become  not  mine.  "  I  have  mother  and  Liza 
— but  what  are  mother  and  Liza  to  me  now  ?  Everything  is 
over,  everything  is  over  at  one  blow,  except  one  thing  :  that  I 
am  a  thief  for  ever." 

"  How  can  I  prove  that  I'm  not  a  thief  ?  Is  it  possible  now  ? 
Shall  I  go  to  America  ?  What  should  I  prove  by  that  ?  Versilov 
will  be  the  first  to  believe  I  stole  it !  My  '  idea '  ?  What 
idea  ?  What  is  my  '  idea  '  now  ?  If  I  go  on  for  fifty  years, 
for  a  hundred  years,  some  one  will  always  turn  up,  to  point  at 
me  and  say  :  '  He's  a  thief,  he  began,  "  his  idea  "  by  stealing 
money  at  roulette.' " 

326 


Was  there  resentment  in  my  heart  ?  I  don't  know,  perhape 
there  was.  Strange  to  say,  I  always  had,  perhaps  from  my 
earliest  childhood,  one  characteristic :  if  I  were  ill-treated, 
absolutely  wronged  and  insulted  to  the  last  degree,  I  always 
showed  at  once  an  irresistible  desire  to  submit  passively  to  the 
insult,  and  even  to  accept  more  than  my  assailant  wanted  to 
inflict  upon  me,  as  though  I  would  say  :  "  All  right,  you  have 
humiliated  me,  so  I  will  humiliate  myself  even  more ;  look,  and 
enjoy  it !  "  Touchard  beat  me  and  tried  to  show  I  was  a  lackey, 
and  not  the  son  of  a  senator,  and  so  I  promptly  took  up  the  role 
of  a  lackey.  I  not  only  handed  him  his  clothes,  but  of  my 
own  accord  I  snatched  up  the  brush  and  began  brushing  off 
every  speck  of  dust,  without  any  request  or  order  from  him, 
and  ran  after  him  brush  in  hand,  in  a  glow  of  menial  devotion, 
to  remove  some  particle  of  dirt  from  his  dress-coat,  so  much  so 
that  he  would  sometimes  check  me  himself  and  say,  "  That's 
enough,  Arkady,  that's  enough."  He  would  come  and  take  off 
his  overcoat,  and  I  would  brush  it,  fold  it  carefully,  and  cover 
it  with  a  check  silk  handkerchief.  I  knew  that  my  school- 
fellows used  to  laugh  at  me  and  despise  me  for  it,  I  knew  it 
perfectly  well,  but  that  was  just  what  gratified  me  :  "  Since 
they  want  me  to  be  a  lackey,  well,  I  am  a  lackey  then ;  if  I'm 
to  be  a  cad,  well,  I  will  be  a  cad."  I  could  keep  up  a  passive 
hatred  and  underground  resentment  in  that  way  for  years. 

Well,  at  Zerstchikov's  I  had  shouted  to  the  whole  room  in  an 
absolute  frenzy  : 

"  I  will  inform  against  you  all — roulette  is  forbidden  by  the 
police  !  "  And  I  swear  that  in  that  case,  too,  there  was  some- 
thing of  the  same  sort :  I  was  humiliated,  searched,  publicly 
proclaimed  a  thief,  crushed.  "  Well  then  I  can  tell  you,  you 
have  guessed  right,  I  am  worse  than  a  thief,  I  am  an  informer." 
Recalling  it  now,  that  is  how  I  explain  it ;  at  the  time  I  was 
incapable  of  analysis  ;  I  shouted  that  at  the  time  unintentionally, 
I  did  not  know  indeed  a  second  before  that  I  should  say  it :  it 
shouted  itself — the  characteristic  was  there  already  in  my  heart. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  I  had  begun  to  be  delirious  while  I  was 
running  in  the  streets,  but  I  remember  quite  well  that  I  knew 
what  I  was  doing  ;  and  yet  I  can  confidently  assert  that  a  whole 
cycle  of  ideas  and  conclusions  were  impossible  for  me  at  that 
time  ;  I  felt  in  myself  even  at  those  moments  that  "  some 
thoughts  I  was  able  to  think,  but  others  I  was  incapable  of," 
In  the  same  way  some  of  my  decisions,  though  they  were  formed 

327 


with  perfect  consciousness,  were  utterly  devoid  of  logic.  What 
is  more,  1  remember  very  well  that  at  some  moments  1  could 
recognize  fully  the  absurdity  of  some  conclusion  and  at  the  same 
time  with  complete  consciousness  proceed  to  act  upon  it.  Yes, 
crime  was  hovering  about  me  that  night,  and  only  by  chance 
was  not  committed. 

1  suddenly  recalled  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  saying  about  Versilov  : 
"  He'd  better  have  gone  at  night  to  the  Nikolaevsky  Railway 
and  have  laid  his  head  on  the  rails — they'd  have  cut  it  off  for 
him." 

For  a  moment  that  idea  took  possession  of  all  my  feelings, 
but  I  instantly  drove  it  away  with  a  pang  at  my  heart :  "  If  I 
lay  my  head  on  the  rails  and  die,  they'll  say  to-morrow  he  did 
it  because  he  stole  the  money,  he  did  it  from  shame — no,  for 
nothing  in  the  world  !  "  And  at  that  instant  I  remember  I 
experienced  a  sudden  flash  of  fearful  anger.  "  To  clear  my 
character  is  impossible,"  floated  through  my  mind,  "  to  begin  a 
new  life  is  impossible  too,  and  so  I  must  submit,  become  a  lackey, 
a  dog,  an  insect,  an  informer,  a  real  informer,  while  I  secretly 
prepare  myself,  and  one  day  suddenly  blow  it  all  up  into  the 
air,  annihilate  everything  and  every  one,  guilty  and  innocent 
alike,  so  that  they  Avill  all  know  that  this  was  the  man  they  had 
all  called  a  thief  .  .  .  and  then  kill  mj'self." 

I  don't  remember  how  I  ran  into  a  lane  somewhere  near 
Konnogvardeysky  Boulevard.  For  about  a  hundred  paces  on 
both  sides  of  this  lane  there  were  high  stone  walls  enclosing 
backyards.  Behind  the  wall  on  the  left  I  saw  a  huge  stack  of 
wood,  a  long  stack  such  as  one  sees  in  timber-yards,  and  more 
than  seven  feet  higher  than  the  wall.  I  stopped  and  began 
pondering. 

In  my  pocket  I  had  wax  matches  in  a  little  silver  matchbox. 
I  repeat,  I  realized  quite  distinctly  at  that  time  what  I  was 
thinking  about  and  what  I  meant  to  do,  and  so  I  remember  it 
even  now,  but  why  I  meant  to  do  it  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know 
at  all,  I  only  know  that  I  suddenly  felt  a  great  longing  to  do 
it.  "  To  climb  over  the  wall  is  quite  possible,"  I  reflected  ;  at 
that  moment  I  caught  sight  of  a  gate  in  the  wall  not  two  paces 
away,  probably  barred  up  for  months  together.  "  Standing  on 
the  projection  below,  and  taking  hold  of  the  top  of  the  gate  I 
could  easily  climb  on  to  the  wall,"  I  reflected,  "  and  no  one  will 
notice  me,  there's  no  one  about,  everything's  still !  And  there 
I  сал  sit  on  the  wall  and  easily  set  fiie  to  the  woodstack.    I  can 

328 


do  it  without  getting  down,  for  the  wood  almost  touches  the 
wall.  The  frost  will  make  it  burn  all  the  better,  1  have  only  to 
take  hold  of  a  birch-log  with  my  hand.  .  .  .  And  indeed  there's 
no  need  to  reach  a  log  at  all  :  I  can  simply  strip  the  bark  off 
with  my  hand,  while  I  sit  on  the  wall,  set  light  to  it  with  a  match 
and  thrust  it  into  the  stack — and  there  will  be  a  blaze.  And  I 
will  jump  down  and  walk  away  ;  there  will  be  no  need  to  run, 
for  it  won't  be  noticed  for  a  long  while.  .  .  ."  That  was  how  I 
reasoned  at  the  time,  and  all  at  once  I  made  up  my  mind. 

I  felt  an  extraordinary  satisfaction  and  enjoyment,  and  I 
climbed  up.  I  was  very  good  at  climbing  :  gymnastics  had 
been  my  speciality  at  school,  but  I  had  my  overboots  on  and  it 
turned  out  to  be  a  difficult  task.  I  succeeded  somehow  in 
catching  hold  of  one  very  slight  projection  above,  and  raised 
myself  ;  I  lifted  my  other  hand  to  clutch  the  top  of  the  wail, 
but  at  that  instant  I  slipped  and  went  flying  backwards. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  struck  the  ground  with  the  back  of 
my  head,  and  must  have  lain  for  two  or  three  minutes  uncon- 
scious. When  I  came  to  myself  I  mechanically  wrapped  my 
fur  coat  about  me,  feeling  all  at  once  xmbearably  cold,  and 
scarcely  conscious  of  what  I  was  doing,  I  crept  into  the  corner 
of  the  gateway  and  sat  crouching  and  huddled  up  in  the  recess 
between  the  gate  and  the  wall.  My  ideas  were  in  confusion, 
and  most  likely  I  soon  fell  into  a  doze.  I  remember  now,  as  it 
were  in  a  dream,  that  there  suddenly  soimded  in  my  ears  the 
deep  heavy  clang  of  a  bell,  and  I  began  listening  to  it  with 
pleasure. 


The  bell  rang  steadily  and  distinctly,  once  every  two  or  three 
seconds  ;  it  was  not  an  alarm  bell,  however,  but  a  pleasant  and 
melodious  chime,  and  I  suddcrJy  recognized  that  it  was  a  familiar 
chime,  that  it  was  the  bell  cf  St.  Nikolay's,  the  red  church  opposite 
Touchard's,  the  old-fashionccl  Moscow  church  which  I  remeni 
bered  so  well,  built  in  the  reign  of  Tsar  Alexey  Mihalovitch,  full 
of  tracer}^,  and  with  many  domes  and  columns,  and  that  Easter 
was  only  just  over,  and  the  new-bom  little  green  leaves  were 
trembling  on  the  meagre  birches  in  Touchard's  front  garden. 
The  brilliant  evening  sun  was  pouring  its  slanting  rays  into  our 
classroom,  and  in  my  little  room  on  the  left,  where  a  з^еаг  before 
Touchard  had  put  me  apart  that  I  might  not  mix  with  "  counts' 

329 


and  senators'  children,"  there  was  sitting  a  visitor.  Yes,  I,  who 
had  no  relations,  had  suddenly  got  a  visitor  for  the  first  time 
since  I  had  been  at  Touchard's.  I  recognized  this  visitor  as 
soon  as  she  came  in  :  it  was  mother,  though  I  had  not  seen  her 
once  since  she  had  taken  me  to  the  village  church  and  the  dove 
had  flown  across  the  cupola.  We  were  sitting  alone  together 
and  I  watched  her  strangely.  Many  years  afterwards  I  learned 
that  being  left  by  Versilov,  who  had  suddenly  gone  abroad,  she 
had  come  on  her  own  account  to  Moscow,  paying  for  the  journey 
out  of  her  small  means,  and  almost  by  stealth,  without  the 
knowledge  of  the  people  who  had  been  commissioned  to  look 
after  her,  and  she  had  done  this  solely  to  see  me.  It  wets  strange, 
too,  that  when  she  came  in  and  talked  to  Touchard,  she  did  not 
eay  one  word  to  me  of  being  my  mother.  She  sat  beside  me, 
and  I  remember  I  wondered  at  her  talking  so  little.  She  had  a 
parcel  with  her  and  she  undid  it :  in  it  there  turned  out  to  be 
six  oranges,  several  gingerbread  cakes,  and  two  ordinary  loaves 
of  French  bread.  I  was  offended  at  the  sight  of  the  bread, 
and  with  a  constrained  air  I  announced  that  our  '  food '  was 
excellent,  and  that  they  gave  us  a  whole  French  loaf  for  our  tea 
every  day. 

"  Never  mind,  darling,  in  my  foolishness  I  thought  '  maybe 
they  don't  feed  them  properly  at  school,'  don't  be  vexed,  my 
own." 

"  And  Antonina  Vassilyevna  (Touchard's  wife)  will  be  offended. 
My  schoolfellows  will  laugh  at  me  too.  .  .  ." 

"  Won't  you  have  them  ;   perhaps  you'll  eat  them  up  ?  " 

"  Please,  don't.  .  .  ." 

And  I  did  not  even  touch  her  presents  ;  the  oranges  and 
gingerbread  cakes  lay  on  the  little  table  before  me,  while  I  sat 
with  my  eyes  cast  down,  but  with  a  great  air  of  dignity.  Who 
knows,  perhaps  I  had  a  great  desire  to  let  her  see  that  her  visit 
made  me  feel  ashamed  to  meet  my  schoolfellows,  to  let  her  have 
at  least  a  glimpse  that  she  might  understand,  as  though  to  say, 
"  See,  you  are  disgracing  me,  and  you  don't  understand  what 
you  are  doing."  Oh,  by  that  time  I  was  rimning  after  Touchard 
with  a  brush  to  flick  off  every  speck  of  dust !  I  was  pictiuring 
to  myself,  too,  what  taunts  I  should  have  to  endure  as  soon  as 
she  was  gone,  from  my  schoolfellows  and  perhaps  from  Touchard 
himself ;  and  there  was  not  the  least  friendly  feeling  for  her  in 
my  heart.  I  only  looked  sideways  at  her  dark-coloured  old 
dress,  at  her  rather  coarse,  almost  working-class  hands,  at  her 

330 


quite  coarse  shoes,  and  her  terribly  thin  face  ;  there  were  already 
furrows  on  her  forehead,  though  Antonina  VasBilyevna  did  say 
that  evening  after  she  had  gone  :  "  Your  mamma  must  have 
been  very  pretty." 

So  we  sat,  and  suddenly  Agafya  came  in  with  a  cup  of  coffee 
on  a  tray.  It  was  just  after  dirmer,  and  at  that  time  Touchard 
always  drank  a  cup  of  coffee  in  his  drawing-room.  But  mother 
thanked  her  and  did  not  take  the  cup  :  as  I  learned  afterwards 
she  never  drank  coffee  in  those  days,  as  it  brought  on  palpitations 
of  the  heart.  The  fact  was  that  Touchard  inwardly  considered 
her  visit,  and  his  permitting  me  to  see  her,  an  act  of  great  con- 
descension on  his  part,  so  that  the  cup  of  coffee  sent  her  was, 
comparatively  speaking,  a  signal  proof  of  humanity  which  did 
the  utmost  credit  to  his  civilization,  feelings,  and  European 
ideas.     And  as  though  on  purpose,  mother  refused  it. 

I  was  summoned  to  Touchard,  and  he  told  me  to  take  all  my 
lesson  books  and  exercise  books  to  show  my  mother  :  "  That 
she  may  see  what  you  have  succeeded  in  attaining  in  my  establish- 
ment." At  that  point  Antonina  Vassilyevna,  pursing  up  her 
lips,  minced  out  to  me  in  a  jeering  and  insulting  way  : 
"  Your  mamma  does  not  seem  to  like  our  coffee." 
I  collected  my  exercise  books  and  carried  them  to  my  waiting 
mother,  passing  through  the  crowd  of  "  counts'  and  senators' 
children  "  in  the  classroom  who  were  staring  at  mother  and  me. 
And  it  actually  pleased  me  to  carry  out  Touchard's  behests  with 
literal  exactitude.  "  Here  are  my  lessons  in  French  grammar, 
here  are  my  dictation  exercises,  here  are  the  conjugations  of  the 
auxiliary  verbs  avoir  and  elre,  here  is  the  geography,  descriptions 
of  the  principal  towns  of  Europe,  and  all  parts  of  the  world," 
and  so  on.  For  half  an  hour  or  more  I  went  on  explaining  in 
a  monotonous  little  voice,  keeping  my  eyes  sedately  cast  down. 
I  knew  that  my  mother  knew  nothing  of  these  learned  subjects, 
could  not  perhaps  even  write,  but  in  this  too  I  was  pleased  with 
my  part.  But  I  did  not  succeed  in  wearying  her  :  she  listened 
all  the  time  without  interrupting  me,  with  extraordinary  and 
even  reverent  attention,  so  that  at  last  I  got  tired  of  it  myself 
and  left  off  ;  her  expression  was  sad,  however,  and  there  was 
something  pitiful  in  her  face. 

She  got  up  to  go  at  last ;  Touchard  suddenly  walked  in,  and 
with  an  air  of  foolish  importance  asked  her  :  "  Whether  she  was 
satisfied  with  her  son's  progress  ?  "  Mother  began  muttering 
incoherent  thanks  ;  Antonina  Vassilyevna  came  up  too.    Mother 

331 


began  begging  them  both  "  not  to  abandon  the  orphan,  who 
was  as  good  as  an  orphan  now,  but  to  treat  him  with  kindness." 
.  .  .  And  with  tears  in  her  eyes  she  bowed  to  them  both,  each 
separately,  and  to  each  with  a  deep  bow,  exactly  as  "  simple 
people  "  bow  down  when  they  ask  a  favour  of  the  gentry.  The 
Touchards  had  not  expected  this,  and  Antonina  Vassilyevmi, 
was  evidently  softened,  and  revised  her  opinion  about  the  cup 
of  coffee.  Touchard  humanely  responded  with  even  greater 
dignity  "  that  he  made  no  distinction  between  the  children, 
that  here  all  were  his  children,  and  he  was  their  father,  that  I 
was  almost  on  an  equal  footing  with  the  sons  of  senators  and 
counts,  and  that  she  ought  to  appreciate  that,"  and  so  on,  and 
so  on.  Mother  only  bowed  do^^^l,  but  was  much  embarrassed. 
At  last  she  tiuTied  to  me,  and  with  tears  shining  in  her  eyes  said  : 
"  Good-bye,  darling." 

She  kissed  me,  that  is  I  allowed  myself  to  be  kissed.  She 
evidently  wanted  to  go  on  kissing,  embracing  and  hugging  me, 
but  either  she  herself  felt  ashamed  before  company,  or  felt 
hurt  by  something  else,  or  guessed  that  I  was  ashamed  of  her, 
for  she  hurriedly  went  out,  bowing  once  more  to  the  Touchards. 
I  stood  still. 

"  Mais  suivez  done  voire  mere"  said  Antonina  Vassilyevna : 
"  il  n'a  pas  de  cceur,  cei  enfant  !  " 

Touchard  responded  by  shrugging  his  shoulders,  which  meant, 
of  course,  "  it's  not  \vithout  reason  that  I  treat  him  as  a  lackey." 

I  obediently  followed  my  mother  ;  we  went  out  on  to  the 
steps.  I  knew  that  they  were  all  looking  at  me  out  of  the 
window.  Mother  turned  towards  the  church  and  crossed 
herself  three  times  ;  her  lips  were  trembling,  the  deep  bell  chimed 
musically  and  regularly  from  the  belfry.  She  turned  to  me 
and  could  not  restrain  herself,  she  laid  both  hands  on  my  head 
and  began  crying  over  it. 

"  Mother,  stop  .  .  .  I'm  ashamed  .  .  .  they  can  see  from  the 
window.  .  .  ." 

She  broke  out  hurriedly  : 

"  Well  God  .  .  .  God  be  with  you.  .  .  .  The  heavenly  angels 
keep  you.  Holy  Mother,  Saint  Nikolay.  ...  My  God,  my 
God  !  "  she  repeated,  speaking  rapidly  and  making  as  many  signs 
of  the  cross  over  me  as  she  possibly  cotdd.  "My  darling,  my 
darling  !     Stay,  my  darling.  .  .  ." 

She  hurriedly  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket  and  drew  out  a 
handkerchief,    a    blue    checked    handkerchief,    with    a    tightly 

332 


fastened  knot  at  the  corner,  and  began  untying  the  Icnot  .  .  . 
but  it  would  not  come  untied.  .  ,  . 

"  Well  never  mind,  take  it  with  the  handkerchief :  it's  clean, 
it  may  be  of  use  perhaps.  There  are  four  fourpenny-bits  in  it, 
perhaps  you'll  need  the  money ;  forgive  me,  darling,  I  have  not 
got  any  more  just  now  .  .  .  forgive  me,  darling." 

I  took  the  handkerchief.  I  wanted  to  observe  that  we  were 
allowed  very  liberal  diet  by  M.  Touchard  and  Antonina  Vassily- 
evna,  and  were  not  in  need  of  anything,  but  I  restrained  m3'self 
and  took  the  handkerchief. 

Once  more  she  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  me,  once  more 
she  whispered  a  prayer,  and  suddenly — suddenly  bowed  to  me 
exactly  as  she  had  done  to  the  Touchards  upstairs — a  prolonged 
low  bow — I  shall  never  forget  it  !  Then  I  shuddered,  I  don't 
know  why.  What  had  she  meant  by  that  bow  ?  "  Was  she 
confessing  the  wrong  she  had  done  me  ?  "  as  I  fancied  once  long 
afterwards — I  don't  know.  But  at  the  time  it  made  me  more 
ashamed  than  ever  that  they  "  were  looking  out  of  window  and 
that  Lambert  would,  most  likely,  begin  beating  me." 

At  last  she  went  away.  The  apples  and  oranges  had  been 
devoured  by  the  sons  of  coimts  and  senators,  and  the  four 
fourpenny-bits  were  promptly  taken  from  me  by  Lambert  and 
spent  at  the  confectioner's  on  tarts  and  chocolates,  of  which  I 
was  not  offered  a  taste. 

Fully  six  months  had  passed  and  it  was  a  wet  and  windy 
October.  I  had  quite  forgotten  about  mother.  Oh,  by  then 
hate,  a  blind  hatred  of  everything  had  crept  into  my  heart,  and 
was  its  sustenance,  though  I  still  brushed  Touchard  as  before  ; 
but  I  hated  him  with  all  my  might,  and  every  day  hated  him 
more  and  more.  It  was  then  that  in  the  melancholy  dusk  of 
one  evening  I  began  rummaging  fqr  something  in  my  little  box, 
and  suddenly  in  the  corner  I  saw  her  blue  cotton  handkerchief  ; 
it  had  been  lying  there  ever  since  I  had  thrust  it  away.  I  took 
it  out  and  even  looked  at  it  with  some  interest.  The  corner  of 
the  handkerchief  still  retained  the  creases  made  by  the  knot, 
and  even  the  roimd  impress  of  the  money  was  distinctly  visible  ; 
I  put  the  handkerchief  in  again,  however,  and  pushed  the  box 
back.  It  was  the  eve  of  a  holiday,  and  the  bells  were  ringing 
for  the  all-night  service.  The  pupils  had  all  gone  to  their  homes 
after  dinner,  but  this  time  Lambert  had  stayed  for  Sunday.  I 
don't  know  why  he  hadn't  been  fetched.  Though  he  used  still 
to  beat  me,  as  before,  he  used  to  talk  to  me  a  great  deal,  and 

333 


often  needed  me.  We  talked  the  whole  evening  about  Lepage's 
pistols,  which  neither  of  us  had  seen,  and  Circassian  swords  and 
how  they  cut,  how  splendid  it  would  be  to  establish  a  band  of 
brigands,  and  finally  Lambert  passed  to  the  familiar  obscene 
subjects  which  were  his  favoiuite  topics,  and  though  I  wondered 
at  myself,  I  remember  I  liked  listening.  Suddenly  I  felt  it 
unbearable,  and  I  told  him  I  had  a  headache.  At  ten  o'clock 
we  went  to  bed  ;  I  turned  away  with  my  head  under  the  quilt 
and  took  the  blue  handkerchief  from  under  my  pillow  :  I  had 
for  some  reason  fetched  it  from  the  box  an  hour  before,  and  as 
soon  as  our  beds  were  made  I  put  it  under  the  pillow.  I  put  it 
to  my  face  and  suddenly  began  kissing  it :  "  Mother,  mother," 
I  whispered,  and  my  whole  chest  contracted  as  though  in  a 
vice.  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  saw  her  face  with  the  quivering 
lips  when  she  crossed  herself  facing  the  church,  and  afterwards 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  me,  and  I  said  to  her,  "  I'm 
ashamed,  they  are  looking  at  us."  "  Mother  darling,  mother, 
were  you  really  with  me  once  1  .  .  .  Mother  darling,  where  are 
you  now,  my  far-away  visitor  ?  Do  you  remember  your  poor 
boy,  whom  you  came  to  see  ?  .  .  .  Show  yourself  to  me  just  this 
once,  come  to  me  if  only  in  a  dream,  just  that  I  may  tell  you 
how  I  love  you,  may  hug  you  and  kiss  your  blue  eyes,  and  tell 
you  that  I'm  not  ashamed  of  you  now,  and  tell  you  that  I  loved 
you  even  then,  and  that  my  heart  was  aching  then,  though  I 
simply  sat  like  a  lackey.  You  will  never  know,  mother,  how  I 
loved  you  then  !  Mother,  where  are  you  now  ?  Do  you  hear 
me  ?  Mother,  mother,  do  you  remember  the  dove  in  the 
country  ?  .  .    " 

"  Confound  him.  .  .  .  What's  the  matter  with  him  !  "  Lam- 
bert grumbled  from  his  bed.  "  Stop  it,  I'll  give  it  you  !  You 
won't  let  me  sleep.  ..."  He  jumped  out  of  bed  at  last,  ran  to 
me,  and  began  pulling  off  the  bedclothes,  but  I  kept  tight  hold 
of  the  quilt,  which  I  had  wrapped  round  my  head. 

"  You  are  blubbering ;  what  are  you  blubbering  about,  you 
fool  ?  I'll  give  it  you  !  "  and  he  thumped  me,  he  thumped  me 
hard  on  my  back,  on  my  side,  hurting  me  more  and  more  and  .  .  . 
and  I  suddenly  opened  my  eyes.  .  .  . 

It  was  bright  daylight,  and  the  snow  on  the  wall  was  glistening 
with  hoarfrost.  ...  I  was  sitting  huddled  up,  almost  frozen, 
and  almost  numb  in  my  fur  coat,  and  some  one  was  standing 
over  me,  waking  me  up,  abusing  me  loudly,  and  kicking  me  in 
the  ribs  with  his  right  foot.     I  raised  myself  and  looked  :  I  saw 

334 


a  man  wearing  a  splendid  bear-lined  coat,  and  a  sable  cap.  He 
had  black  eyes,  foppish  pitch-black  whiskers,  a  hook  nose,  white 
teeth  grinning  at  me,  a  face  white  and  red  like  a  mask.  .  .  .  He 
bent  down  over  me  very  close,  and  a  frosty  vapour  came  from 
his  lips  at  each  breath. 

"  Frozen,  the  drunken  fool  1  You'll  freeze  like  a  dog  ;  get 
up  !     Get  up  !  " 

"  Lambert,"  I  cried. 

"  Whoever  are  you  ?  '* 

"  Dolgoruky." 

"  Who  the  devil's  Dolgorukv  ?  " 

"  Simply  Dolgoruky  !  .  .  .  Touchard.  .  .  .  The  one  you  stuck 
a  fork  into,  in  the  restaurant  I  .  .  ." 

"  Ha-a-a  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  slow  smile  of  recollection  (could 
he  possibly  have  forgotten  me  ?),  "  ha  !     So  it's  you,  it's  you  !  " 

He  lifted  me  up  and  put  me  on  my  legs  ;  I  could  hardly  stand, 
could  hardly  walk ;  he  led  me,  supporting  me  with  his  arm.  He 
looked  into  my  eyes  as  though  considering  and  recalling,  and 
listenbg  to  me  intently,  and  I  babbled  on  continuously  without 
pause,  and  I  was  delighted,  so  delighted  to  be  talking,  and  so 
delighted  too  that  it  was  Lambert.  Whether  for  some  reason 
I  looked  on  him  as  my  "  salvation,"  or  whether  I  pounced  on 
him  at  that  moment  because  I  took  him  for  some  one  of  another 
world,  I  don't  know — ^I  did  not  consider  it  then — but  I  pounced 
on  him  without  considering.  What  I  said  then,  I  don't  remember 
at  all,  and  I  doubt  whether  any  of  it  was  coherent,  I  doubt 
whether  I  even  pronounced  a  word  clearly  ;  but  he  listened  very 
attentively.  He  took  the  first  sledge  we  came  upon,  and  within 
a  few  minutes  I  was  sitting  in  his  room  in  the  warmth. 


Every  man,  whoever  he  may  be,  must  certainly  preserve  a 
recollection  of  something  which  has  happened  to  him,  upon 
which  he  looks,  or  is  inclined  to  look,  as  something  fantastic, 
exceptional,  outside  the  common  order  of  things,  almost 
miraculous,  whether  it  be  a  dream,  a  meeting,  a  divination,  a 
presentiment  or  anything  of  that  kind.  I  am  to  this  day  inclined 
to  look  upon  this  meeting  with  Lambert  as  something  almost 
supernatural  .  .  .  judging,  that  is,  from  the  circumstances  and 
consequences  of  that  meeting.     It  all  happened  from  one  point 

335 


of  view,  however,  perfectly  naturally ;  he  was  simply  returning 
from  one  of  his  nocturnal  pursuits  (the  nature  of  it  will  be 
explained  later  on)  half-drunk,  and  stopping  at  the  gate  for  a 
moment,  caught  sight  of  me.  He  had  only  been  in  Petersburg 
a  few  days. 

The  room  in  which  I  found  myself  was  small  and  furnished 
in  an  unsophisticated  style,  a  typical  example  of  the  ordinary 
Petersburg  furnished  lodgings  of  the  middling  sort.  Lambert 
himself,  however,  was  very  well  and  expensively  dressed.  On 
the  floor  there  lay  two  trunks,  only  half  unpacked.  A  comer  of 
the  room  was  shut  off  by  a  screen  which  concealed  the  bed. 

"  Alphonsine  !  "  cried  Lambert. 

"  Presente  !  "  responded  from  behind  the  screen  a  cracked 
female  voice  with  a  Parisian  accent,  and  two  minutes  later 
IVIlle,  Alphonsine  emerged,  just  out  of  bed,  hurriedly  dressed  in 
a  loose  wrapper,  a  queer  creature,  tall  and  as  lean  as  a  rake,  a 
brunette  with  a  long  waist  and  a  long  face,  with  dancing 
eyes  and  sunken  cheeks,  who  looked  terribly  the  worse  for 
wear. 

"  Make  hsiste "  (he  spoke  to  her  in  French,  I  translate), 
"  they  must  have  got  a  samovar  ;  hot  water  quick,  red  wine 
and  sugar,  a  glass  here,  look  sharp,  he's  frozen,  it's  a  friend  of 
mine  .  .  .  he's  been  sleeping  the  night  in  the  snow.  .  .  ." 

"  Malheureux  !  "  she  exclaimed  with  a  theatrical  air,  clasping 
her  hands. 

"  Now  then  !  "  he  shouted,  holding  up  his  finger  and  speaking 
exactly  as  though  to  a  dog  ;  she  at  once  desisted  and  ran  to 
carry  out  his  orders. 

He  examined  me  and  felt  me  over  ;  tried  my  pulse,  touched 
my  forehead  and  my  temple.  "  It's  strange,"  he  muttered, 
"  that  you  did  not  freeze.  .  .  .  However,  you  were  entirely 
covered  with  your  fur  coat,  head  and  all,  so  that  you  were  sitting 
in  a  sort  of  nest  of  fur.  .  .  ." 

A  glass  of  something  hot  arrived,  I  sipped  it  greedily  and  it 
revived  me  at  once  ;  I  began  babbling  again  ;  I  was  half  lying 
on  the  sofa  in  a  corner  and  was  talking  all  the  time,  I  talked 
even  as  I  sipped — but  what  I  said,  again  I  scarcely  remember  ; 
moments  and  even  whole  intervals  of  time  I've  completely 
forgotten.  I  repeat  :  whether  he  understood  anything  of  what 
I  said,  I  don't  know  ;  but  one  thing  I  distinctly  gathered  after- 
wards, and  that  was  that  he  succeeded  in  understanding  me 
sufficiently  to  deduce  that  he  must  not  take  his  meeting  with 

336 


«ne  lightly.  ...  I  wШ  explain  later  in  its  proper  place  how  he 
came  to  make  this  calculation. 

I  was  not  only  extremely  lively,  but  at  moments,  I  believe, 
cheerful.  I  remember  the  sun  suddenly  flooding  the  room  with 
light  when  the  blinds  were  drawn  up,  and  the  crackling  stove 
which  some  one  was  lighting,  who  and  how  I  forget.  I  remember, 
too,  the  tiny  black  lap-dog  which  Mile.  Alphonsine  held  in  her 
arms,  coquettishly  pressing  it  to  her  heart.  This  lap-dog 
attracted  me  so  much  that  I  left  off  talking  and  twice  stretched 
out  towards  it,  but  Lambert  waved  his  hand,  and  Alphonsine 
with  her  lap-dog  instantly  vanished  behind  the  screen. 

He  was  very  silent  himself,  he  sat  facing  me  and  bending  close 
down  to  me,  listened  without  moving;  at  times  he  smiled,  a 
broad  slow  smile,  showing  his  teeth,  and  screwing  up  his  eyes 
as  though  reflecting  intensely  and  trying  to  guess  something. 
I  have  a  clear  recollection  only  of  the  fact  that  when  I  told  him 
about  the  "  document,"  I  could  not  express  myself  intelligibly 
and  tell  the  story  consecutively,  and  from  his  face  I  quite  saw 
that  he  could  not  understand  me,  but  that  he  would  very  much 
have  liked  to  understand,  so  much  so  that  he  even  ventured  to 
stop  me  with  a  question,  which  was  risky,  as  at  the  slightest 
interruption  I  broke  off  and  forgot  what  I  was  talking  of.  How 
long  we  sat  and  talked  like  this  I  don't  know  and  cannot  even 
imagine.     He  suddenly  got  up  and  called  to  Alphonsine. 

"  He  needs  rest ;  he  may  have  to  have  the  doctor.  Do 
everything  he  asks,  that  is  .  .  .  vovs  comprenez,  ma  fille  ?  Voua 
avez  V argent,  no  ?  here  !  "  and  he  drew  out  a  ten-rouble  note. 
He  began  whispering  with  her  :  "  Vous  comprenez  ?  voics  com- 
prenez ?  "  he  repeated  to  her,  holding  up  his  finger  menacingly 
to  her,  and  frowning  sternly.  I  saw  that  she  was  dreadfully 
afraid  of  him. 

"  I'll  come  back,  and  you  had  better  go  to  sleep,"  he  said, 
smiling  to  me,  and  took  his  cap.  "  3Iais  vous  n'avez  pas  dormi  de 
tout,  Maurice  !  "  Alphonsine  began  pathetically.  "  Taisez-vous 
je  dormirai  ajjres,''  and  he  went  out. 

"  Sauvee,"  she  murmured,  pathetically  pointing  after  him. 

"  Monsieur,  Monsieur,"  she  began  declaiming  at  once,  taking 
up  an  attitude  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  "jamais  homme  ne 
Jut  si  cruel,  si  Bismarck  que  cet  etre,  qui  regarde  une  femme, 
comme  une  salete  de  hazard.  Une  femme,  qu'est-ce  que  ca 
dans  rwtre  c'poque  ?  Tue-la  I  voild  le  dernier  mot  de  VAcademie 
francaise  !  " 

337 


I  stared  at  her  open-eyed  ;  I  saw  everything  double,  I  had  a 
vision  of  two  Alphonsines.  ...  I  suddenly  noticed  that  she 
was  crying,  I  started  and  realized  that  she  had  been  talking 
to  me  for  a  long  time,  and  that  I  must  have  been  asleep  or 
unconscious. 

"  .  .  .  Hilas  !  dt  quoi  m'aurait  servi  de  le  decouvrir  plutSt" 
she  exclaimed,  "  et  n^aurais-je  pas  auiant  gagne  d  tenir  ma 
honte  cachie  toute  ma  vie  ?  Peut-etre  n'est-il  pas  honnUe,  d, 
une  demoiselle  de  s'expliquer  si  librement  devant  monsieur, 
mais  enfin  je  vous  avoue  que  s4l  m,4tait  permis  de  vouloir 
quelque  chose,  oh,  ce  serait  de  lui  plonger  au  ссвиг  топ  couteau, 
ma.is  en  detournant  les  yeux,  de  peur  que  son  regard  execrable 
nefit  trembler  топ  bras  et  ne  gkiQUt  топ  courage  !  II  a  assassine. 
ce  pape  ru^se,  m,onsieur,  il  lui  arracha  sa  barbe  rousse  pour  la 
vendre  a  un  artiste  en  cheveux  au  pont  de  Marichaux,  tout  pres 
de  la  maison  de  Monsieur  Andrieux — hautes  nouveautes,  articles 
de  Paris,  linge,  chemises,  vous  savez,  n'est-ce  pas  ?  .  .  .  Oh, 
monsieur,  quand  Vamitie  rassemble  d  table  epouse,  enfants, 
soeurs,  amis,  quand  une  vive  allegresse  enflamme  топ  caur,  je 
vous  le  demande,  monsieur :  est-il  bonheur  preferable  a  celui 
dont  tout  jouit  ?  Mais  il  rit,  monsieur,  ce  monstre  execrable  et 
inconcevable,  et  si  ce  n4tait  pas  par  Ventremise  de  Monsieur 
Andrieux,  jamais,  oh,  jamais  je  ne  serais  .  .  .  Mais  quoi, 
monsieur,  qu'avez  vous,  m,onsieur  ?  " 

She  rushed  up  to  me.  I  believe  I  had  an  attack  of  shivering, 
perhaps,  a  fainting  fit.  I  cannot  express  what  a  painful  and 
miserable  impression  this  half-crazy  creature  made  upon  me. 
She  imagined  perhaps  that  she  had  been  commanded  to  entertain 
me  :  at  any  rate  she  did  not  leave  my  side  for  one  instant.  She 
had  рзгЬарз  at  one  time  or  another  been  on  the  stage  ;  she 
declaimed  in  a  terrible  way,  pirouetted,  talked  incessantly,  vhile 
I  had  long  been  silent.  All  I  could  understand  from  her  story 
was  that  she  had  been  closely  connected  with  "  la  maison  de 
M.  Andrieux — hautes  nouveautes,  articles  de  Paris,  etc.,"  and 
perhaps  was  one  of  the  family  of  la  Maison  de  M.  Andrieux  ;  but 
she  had  somehow  been  torn  for  ever  from  M.  Andrieux,  par  ce 
monstre  furieux  et  inconcevable,  and  that  was  the  point  of  the 
tragedy.  .  .  .  She  sobbed,  but  I  fancied  that  this  was  all  part 
of  the  performance,  and  that  she  was  not  really  crying  at  all  ; 
sometimes  I  fancied  that  she  would  suddenly  drop  to  pieces,  like 
a  skeleton  ;  she  articulated  her  words  in  a  jangling,  broken 
voice ;    the    word    preferable,    for    instance,    she    pronounced 

338 


prefer-a-аЫе,  and  on  the  syllable  a  positively  baa-ed  like  a 
sheep.  Coming  to  myself  on  one  occasion  I  found  her  executing 
a  pirouette  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  but  she  was  not  actually 
dancing,  the  pirouette  had  some  connection  with  her  story,  and 
she  was  simply  impersonating  some  figure  in  it.  Suddenly  she 
rushed  and  opened  a  little,  old,  out-of-tune  piano  that  was  in 
the  room,  and  began  strumming  on  it  and  singing.  1  believe 
that  for  ten  minutes  or  more  I  lost  consciousness  completely,  I 
fell  asleep,  but  the  lap-dog  yelped  and  I  waked  up  again  ;  for  a 
moment  consciousness  returned  completely  and  suddenly  flooded 
my  mind  with  light ;  I  jumped  up  in  horror  : 

'*  Lambert,  I  am  at  Lambert's  !  "  I  thought,  and  snatching 
up  my  hat,  I  rushed  to  my  fur  coat. 

"  Ой  aUez-vous,  monsieur  ?  "  cried  the  vigilant  Alphonsine. 

"  I  want  to  get  out,  I  want  to  go  away  !  Let  me  out,  don't 
keep  me.  ..." 

"  Oui,  monsieur !  "  Alphonsine  assented  vigorously,  and  she 
rushed  to  open  the  door  into  the  corridor  herself.  "  Mais  ce 
n'est  pas  loin,  monsieur,  c'est  pas  loin  du  tout,  fa  ne  vavt  pas  la 
peine  de  mettre  voire  chouba,  c'est  id  pres,  monsieur ! "  she 
shouted  for  the  benefit  of  the  whole  corridor.  Running  out  of 
the  room  I  turned  to  the  right. 

"  Par  id,  monsieur,  c'est  par  id  !  "  she  shouted  at  the  top  of 
her  voice,  clutching  at  ray  coat  with  her  long  bony  fingers,  and 
with  the  other  hand  pointing  to  the  left  of  the  corridor,  where  I 
did  not  at  all  want  to  go.  I  broke  away  and  ran  to  the  outer 
door  opening  on  to  the  stairs. 

"  II  s'en  va,  il  s'en  va  .'  "  Alphonsine  ran  after  me  shouting  in 
her  cracked  voice  ;  "  m/iis  il  me  tuera,  monsieur,  il  me  tuera  !  " 
But  I  was  already  on  the  stairs  and,  though  she  ran  after  me 
down  stairs,  I  succeeded  in  opening  the  front  door,  dashing  out 
into  the  street,  and  jumping  into  the  first  sledge  I  met.  I  gave 
the  driver  my  mother's  address.  .  .  , 


But  the  cloar  consciousness  that  had  flickered  up  for  one 
moment  was  soon  dimmed.  I  still  have  a  faint  recollection  of 
the  drive  and  being  taken  up  to  my  mother's,  but  there  I  sank 
almost  at  once  into  complete  unconsciousness.  Next  day,  as 
they  told  me  afterwards,  and  indeed  I  remember  it  myself,  I  had 

339 


a  moment  of  lucidity  again.  I  found  myself  in  Versilov's  room 
and  on  his  sofa.  I  re  member  around  me  the  faces  of  Versilov, 
my  mother,  Liza ;  I  remember  particularly  Versilov's  speaking 
to  me  about  Zerstchikov,  and  about  Prince  Sergay,  and  showing 
me  some  letter  to  soothe  me.  They  told  me  afterwards  that  I 
kept  asking  with  horror  about  someone  called  Lambert,  and 
kept  hearing  the  barking  of  some  lap-dog.  But  the  faint  light 
of  consciousness  was  soon  quenched  again  :  by  the  evening 
of  the  second  day  I  was  completely  prostrate  with  brain- 
fever.  But  I  will  anticipate  events,-  and  explain  what  had 
happened. 

When  I  had  run  out  in  the  street  from  Zerstchikov's  that 
evening,  and  when  calm  had  been  restored  there,  Zerstchikov, 
who  had  returned  to  the  table,  proclaimed  aloud  that  a  regrettable 
mistake  had  been  made  :  the  missing  money,  four  hundred 
roubles,  had  been  found  in  a  pile  of  other  money,  and  the  bank 
account  turned  out  to  be  quite  correct.  Then  Prince  Sergay, 
who  had  remained  in  the  room,  went  up  to  Zerstchikov  and 
insisted  that  he  should  make  a  public  declaration  of  my  innocence 
and  should,  moreover,  send  me  an  apology  in  the  form  of  a 
letter.  Zerstchikov  on  his  side  accepted  this  suggestion  as  a 
very  proper  one,  and  promised,  in  the  presence  of  all,  to  send  me 
next  day  a  letter  of  explanation  and  apology.  Prince  Sergay 
gave  him  Versilov's  address.  And  Versilov  did  in  fact  receive 
next  day  a  letter  addressed  to  me  in  Zerstchikov's  hand,  and 
more  than  thirteen  hundred  roubles  belonging  lo  me,  which  I 
had  left  on  the  roulette  table.  And  so  the  affair  with  Zerstchikov 
ended  :  this  joyful  news  did  much  to  hasten  my  recovery,  when 
I  regained  consciousness. 

When  Prince  Sergay  retiirned  from  the  gambling  saloon  that 
night  he  wrote  two  letters — one  to  me,  and  the  other  tQ  his 
old  regiment,  in  which  he  had  behaved  so  scandalously  to  Comet 
Stepanov.  He  dispatched  both  letters  next  morning.  After 
that,  he  wrote  a  report  for  the  authorities,  and  with  that  report 
in  his  hand  he  went  early  in  the  morning  to  the  officer  in  command 
of  his  regiment  and  announced  to  him  that  he,   "  a  common 

criminal,  who  had  taken  part  in  the  forging  of  the  X railway 

shares,  surrendered  to  justice  and  asked  to  be  tried."  Therewith 
he  handed  him  the  report  in  which  all  this  was  set  out  in  writing. 
He  was  arrested. 

Here  is  the  letter  he  wrote  to  me  that  night,  word  for 
word  : 

340 


*'  Precious  Arkady  Makarovitch, 

"  Having  tried  the  lackey's  way  of  escape,  I  have  lost  the 
right  to  comfort  my  soul  a  little  with  the  thought  that  I  was 
able  in  the  end  to  dare  to  do  what  was  just  and  fine.  I  have 
sinned  against  my  fatherland  and  against  my  family,  and  for 
this  I,  the  last  of  my  family,  am  punishing  myself.  I  don't  know 
how  I  could  have  caught  at  the  bare  idea  of  self-preservation, 
and  for  a  time  have  dreamed  of  buying  them  ofif  with  money  !  I 
should  have  still  remained  to  all  eternity  a  criminal  in  my 
conscience  !  Even  if  those  people  had  given  back  the  notes 
that  compromised  me,  they  would  never  have  been  induced  to 
let  me  alone  as  long  as  1  lived  !  What  remained  ?  To  live 
with  them,  to  be  on  a  level  with  them  all  my  life — that  was  the 
fate  awaiting  me  !  I  could  not  accept  it,  and  have  at  last  found 
in  myself  strength  enough,  or  perhaps  only  despair  enough,  to 
act  as  I  am  acting  now. 

"  I  have  written  a  letter  to  my  old  regiment,  to  my  fellow 
officers,  clearing  Stepanov's  character.  This  is  not  and  cannot 
be  an  atonement :  it  is  only  the  last  will  and  testament  of  a  man 
who  will  be  dead  to-morrow.     That  is  how  one  must  look  at  it. 

"  Forgive  me  for  turning  away  from  j'ou  in  the  gambling 
saloon  ;  it  was  because  at  the  moment  I  was  not  sure  of  you. 
Now  that  I  am  a  dead  man  I  can  make  this  confession  .  .  .  from 
the  other  world, 

■  Poor  Liza  !  she  knows  nothing  of  this  decision  ;  let  her  no-: 
curse  me,  but  judge  of  it  herself.  I  cannot  defend  myself  and 
cannot  even  find  the  words  to  explain  anything  to  her.  I  must 
tell  you,  too,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  that  when  she  came  to  me 
yesterday  morning  for  the  last  time,  I  confessed  that  I  had 
deceived  her,  and  owned  that  I  had  been  to  Anna  Andrcyevna 
with  the  intention  of  making  her  an  offer.  I  could  not,  seeing 
her  love,  keep  this  upon  my  conscience  in  face  of  my  last  deter- 
mination, and  I  told  her.  She  forgave  me,  she  forgave  every- 
thing, but  I  could  not  believe  her  ;  it  is  not  forgiveness  ;  in  her 
place  I  could  not  forgive. 

"  Remember  me  a  little. 

"  Your  unhappy  friend, 

"The  Last  Prince  Sokolsky.' 

I  lay  unconscious  for  exactly  nine  days. 

341 


PART    III 


CHAPTER  I 


Now  for  something  quite  different. 

I  keep  declaring  :  "  something  different,  something  different," 
yet  I  keep  on  scribbUng  of  nothing  but  myself.  Yet  I  have 
announced  a  thousand  times  ab-eady  that  I  don't  want  to  describe 
myself  at  all,  and  I  firmly  meant  not  to  do  so  when  I  began  my 
story  :  I  quite  understand  that  I'm  not  of  the  slightest  interest 
to  the  reader.  I  am  describing  and  want  to  describe  other 
people,  not  myself,  and  if  I  keep  coming  in  it's  only  a  lamentable 
mistake,  because  I  can't  avoid  it,  however  much  I  should  like 
to.  What  I  regret  most  is  that  I  describe  my  own  adventures 
with  such  heat ;  by  doing  so  I  give  ground  for  supposing  that 
I  am  still  the  same  as  I  was.  The  reader  will  remember,  however, 
that  I  have  exclaimed  more  than  once,  "  Oh,  if  one  could  only 
change  the  past  and  begin  all  over  again  !  "  I  could  not  have 
uttered  that  exclamation  if  I  were  not  radically  changed  and  had 
not  become  an  entirely  different  man  now  ;  that  is  quite  evident. 
And  no  one  can  imagine  how  sick  I  am  of  these  apologies  and 
prefaces,  which  I  am  continually  forced  to  squeeze  into  the 
very  middle  of  my  narrative  ! 

To  return. 

After  nine  days'  unconsciousness  I  came  to  myself,  regenerated 
but  not  reformed  ;  my  regeneration  was  a  stupid  one,  however, 
of  course,  if  the  word  is  taken  in  the  wide  sense,  and  perhaps 
if  it  had  happened  now  it  would  have  been  different.  The  idea, 
or  rather  the  feeling,  thai  possessed  me  was,  as  it  had  been  a 
thousand  times  before,  the  desire  to  get  away  altogether,  but 
this  time  I  meant  to  go  away,  not  as  in  the  past,  when  I  had  so 
often  considered  the  project  and  been  incapable  of  carrying 
it  out.     I  didn't  want  to  revenge  myself  on  anyone,  and  I  give 

343 


ray  word  of  honour  that  I  did  not,  though  I  had  been  insulted 
by  all  of  them.  I  meant  to  go  away  without  loathing,  without 
cursing,  and  never  to  return,  but  I  wanted  to  do  this  by  my 
own  effort,  and  by  real  effort  unassisted  by  any  one  of  them, 
or  by  anyone  in  the  whole  world  ;  yet  I  was  almost  on  the 
point  of  being  reconciled  with  every  one  !  I  record  this  absorbing 
dream  not  as  a  thought,  but  as  an  overwhelming  sensation.  I 
did  not  care  to  formulate  it  as  long  as  I  was  in  bed.  Sick  ard 
helpless  I  lay  in  Versilov's  room,  which  they  had  given  up  to 
me  ;   I  recognized,  with  a  pang,  how  abjectly  helpless  I  was. 

What  was  tossing  on  the  bed  was  not  a  man  but  a  feeble  straw, 
and  this  impotence  was  not  only  through  illness — and  how 
degrading  I  felt  it !  And  so  from  the  very  depth  of  my  being, 
from  all  the  forces  in  me,  a  protest  began  to  rise,  and  I  wa^s 
choking  with  a  feeling  of  infinitely  exaggerated  pride  and  defiance. 
Indeed,  I  can't  remember  any  time  in  my  whole  life  when  I  was 
so  full  of  arrogant  feeling  as  I  was  during  the  earl}'  days  of 
my  convalescence,  that  is,  while  I  was  tossing  like  a  weak  straw 
on  my  bed. 

But  for  the  time  I  held  my  peace,  and  even  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  think  of  anything  !  I  kept  peeping  at  their  faces,  trying 
to  guess  from  them  all  I  wanted  to  know.  It  was  evident  that 
they  too  did  not  want  to  ask  questions  or  be  inquisitive,  but 
talked  of  something  irrelevant.  This  pleased  me  and  at  the 
same  time  mortified  me  ;  I  won't  attempt  to  explain  the  contra- 
diction. I  did  not  see  Liza  so  often  as  my  mother,  though  she 
came  in  to  see  me  every  day,  and  indeed  twice  a  day.  From 
fragments  of  their  talk  and  from  their  whole  air  I  gathered  that 
Liza  had  a  great  deal  on  her  hands  and  that  she  was  indeed  often 
absent  from  home  on  business  of  her  own  :  the  very  fact  that 
she  could  have  "  business  of  her  own  "  was  something  like  a 
grievance  to  me  ;  but  all  these  were  morbid,  purely  physical, 
sensations,  which  arc  not  worth  describing.  Tatyana  Favlovna 
came,  too,  almost  daily  to  see  me,  and  though  she  was  by  no 
means  tender  with  me,  she  did  not  abuse  me  as  usual,  which 
annoyed  me  extremely — so  much  so  that  I  said  to  her  openly  : 
"  You  know,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  when  you're  not  scolding  you 
are  very  tedious."  "  Well,  then,  I  won't  come  and  see  you," 
she  blurted  out,  and  went  away.  And  I  was  pleased  that  I  had 
got  rid  of  one  of  them,  at  least. 

Moat  of  all  I  worried  my  mother  ;  I  was  irritable  with  her. 
I  developed  a  terrific  appetite  and  grumbled  very  much  that 

344 


the  meals  were  late  (and  they  never  were  late).  Mother  did 
not  know  how  to  satisfy  me.  Once  she  brought  some  soup,  and 
began,  as  usual,  feeding  me  with  it  herself,  and  I  kept  grumbling 
as  I  ate  it.  And  suddenly  I  felt  vexed  that  I  was  grumbling  : 
"  She  is  perhaps  the  only  one  I  love,  and  I  am  tormenting  her." 
But  I  was  none  the  less  ill-humoured,  and  I  suddenly  began  to 
cry  from  ill-humour  ;  and  she,  poor  darling,  thought  I  was 
crying  from  tenderness,  stooped  down  and  began  kissing  me. 
I  restrained  myself  and  endured  it,  but  at  that  instant  I,  posi- 
tively hated  her.  But  I  always  loved  my  mother,  and  at  that 
very  time  I  loved  her  and  did  not  hate  her  at  all,  but  it  happened 
as  it  always  does — that  the  one  you  love  best  you  treat  worst. 

The  only  person  I  hated  in  those  days  was  the  doctor.  He  was 
a  young  man  with  a  conceited  air,  who  talked  abruptly  and  even 
rudely,  as  though  all  these  <=rientific  people  had  only  yesterday 
discovered  something  special,  when  in  reality  nothing  special 
had  happened;  but  ile  "  me  liocrity,"  the  man  in  the  street, 
is  always  like  that.  1  restraif.ed  myself  for  a  long  time,  but  at 
last  I  suddenly  broke  ou'^;  and  informed  him  before  every  one 
that  he  was  hanging  about  unnecessarily,  that  I  should  get 
better  just  as  well  without  him  ;  that,  though  he  looked  like  a 
scientific  man,  he  was  filled  with  nothing  but  conventional  ideas 
and  did  not  even  understand  that  medicine  had  never  cured 
anyone  ;  that,  in  fact,  he  was  in  all  probability  grossly  ill- 
educated,  "  like  all  the  specialists  who  had  become  so  high  and 
mighty  among  us  of  late  years."  The  doctor  Avas  very  much 
offended  (showing  by  that  very  fact  that  he  was  that  sort  of 
person)  ;  however,  he  still  came  as  before.  I  told  Versilov  at  last 
that  if  the  doctoi:  did  not  give  up  coming,  that  I  should  say 
something  to  him  ten  times  as  disagreeable.  Versilov  only 
observed  that  it  was  impossible  to  say  anything  even  twice  as 
disagreeable  as  I  had  said,  let  alone  ten  times.  I  was  pleased 
at  his  saying  that. 

He  was  a  man,  though  !  I  am  speaking  of  Versilov.  He,  he  was 
the  sole  cause  of  it  all,  and,  strange  to  say,  he  was  the  only  one 
towards  whom  I  did  not  feel  resentful.  It  was  not  only  his 
manner  to  me  that  won  me  over.  I  imagine  that  we  felt  at  that 
time  that  we  owed  each  other  many  explanations  .  .  .  and 
for  that  very  reason  it  would  be  our  best  course  never  to  explain. 
It's  extremely  pleasant  in  such  situations  to  have  to  do  with 
a  man  of  intelligence  :  I  have  mentioned  already,  in  the  secord 
part  of  my  story,  that  he  told  me  briefly  and  clearly  of  Prince 

345 


Sergay's  letter  to  me  about  Zerstchikov,  about  what  he,  Prince 
Sergay,  had  said  to  the  latter,  and  so  on.  As  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  keep  quiet,  I  only  asked  him  two  or  three  brief 
questions  ;  he  answered  them  clearly  and  exactly  but  entirely 
without  superfluous  words  and,  what  was  best  of  all,  without 
feeling.     I  луаз  afraid  of  superfluous  feeling  at  that  time. 

I  said  nothing  about  Lambert,  but  the  reader  will  readily 
understand  that  I  thought  a  great  deal  about  him.  In  my 
delirium  I  spoke  more  than  once  about  Lambert ;  but,  recovering 
from  my  delirium  and  looking  about  me,  I  quickly  reflected  that 
everything  about  Lambert  remained  a  secret,  and  that  every  one, 
even  Versilov,  knew  nothing  about  him.  Then  I  was  relieved 
and  mj'  fears  passed  away  ;  but  I  was  mistaken,  as  I  found  out 
later  to  my  astonishment.  He  had  come  to  the  house  during 
my  ilhiess,  but  Versilov  said  nothing  to  me  about  it,  and  I 
concluded  that  Lambert  had  lost  all  trace  of  me  for  ever.  Never- 
theless. I  often  thought  of  him  ;  what  is  more,  I  thought  of  him 
Hot  only  without  repulsion,  not  only  with  curiosity,  but  even 
with  sympathy,  as  though  foreseeing  from  him  something  new, 
some  means  of  escape  in  harmony  with  my  new  feelings  and 
plans.  In  short,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  think  over  Lambert 
as  soon  as  I  should  be  ready  to  think  over  anything.  I  will  note 
one  strange  fact :  I  had  entirely  forgotten  where  he  lived  and 
in  what  street  it  had  all  happened.  The  room,  Alphonsine, 
the  lap-dog,  the  corridor,  all  I  remembered,  so  that  I  could  have 
sketched  them  at  once  ;  but  where  it  had  all  happened — that  is, 
in  what  street  and  in  what  house — I  had  utterly  forgotten. 
And,  what  is  strangest  of  all,  I  only  realized  this  three  or  four 
days  after  I  had  regained  complete  consciousness,  when  I  had 
been  occupied  with  the  thought  of  Lambert  for  a  long  time. 

These,  then,  were  my  first  sensations  on  my  resurrection 
I  have  noted  only  what  was  most  on  the  surface,  and  most 
probably  I  was  not  able  to  detect  what  was  most  important. 
In  reality,  perhaps,  what  was  really  most  important  was  even 
then  taking  shape  and  becoming  defined  in  my  heart ;  I  was 
not,  of  course,  always  vexed  and  resentful  simply  at  my  broth's 
not  being  brought  me.  Oh,  I  remember  how  sad  I  was  then  and 
how  depressed,  especially  at  moments  when  I  had  remained 
a  long  while  alone.  As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  they  soon  saw 
that  I  was  dreary  with  them  and  that  their  sympathy  irritated 
me,  and  they  began  more  and  more  often  to  leave  me  alone — 
a  superfluous  delicacy  of  perception  on  their  part. 

346 


Oq  the  fourth  day  of  consciousness  I  was  lying  in  my  bed  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  there  was  no  one  with  me. 
It  was  a  bright  day,  and  I  knew  that  at  four  o'clock,  when  the 
sun  would  set,  its  slanting  red  rays  would  fall  on  the  corner  of 
my  wall,  and  throw  a  patch  of  glaring  light  upon  it.  I  knew  that 
from  the  days  before,  and  that  that  would  certainly  happen  in 
an  hour's  time,  and  above  all,  that  I  knew  of  this  beforehand, 
as  certainly  as  twice  two  make  four,  exasperated  me  to  fury. 
I  turned  round  impulsively  and  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the 
profound  stillness,  1  clearly  distinguished  the  words  :  "  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  have  mercy  upon  us."  The  words  were  pronounced 
in  a  half- whisper,  and  were  followed  by  a  deep-drawn  sigh, 
and  then  everything  was  still  again.  I  raised  my  head 
quickly. 

I  had  before,  that  is  the  previous  day,  and  even  the  day  before 
that,  noticed  something  special  in  our  three  rooms  downstairs. 
In  the  little  room  beyond  the  dining-room  where  mother  and 
Liza  were  accustomed  to  sleep,  there  was  evidently  now  some  one 
else.  I  had  more  than  once  heard  sounds,  both  by  day  and  by 
night,  but  only  for  brief  moments,  and  complete  stillness  followed 
immediately  and  lasted  for  several  hours,  so  that  I  took  no 
notice  of  the  sounds.  The  thought  had  occurred  to  me  the 
evening  before  that  Versilov  was  in  there,  especially  as  he  soon 
afterwards  came  in  to  me,  though  I  knew  for  a  fact  from  their 
conversation  that  during  my  illness  Versilov  had  been  sleeping 
out  in  another  lodging.  I  had  known  for  some  time  past  that 
mother  and  Liza  had  moved  into  my  former  "  cofiin  "  upstairs 
(to  make  -it  quieter  for  me,  I  imagined)  and  I  had  even  once 
wondered  how  the  two  of  them  could  have  possibly  fitted  them- 
selves into  it.  And  now  it  suddenly  appeared  that  there  was 
some  person  living  in  their  old  room,  and  that  that  person  was 
not  Versilov.  With  an  ease  which  I  had  not  the  least  expected 
(for  I  had  till  then  imagined  I  was  quite  helpless)  I  dropped  my 
feet  over  the  bed,  slipped  them  into  slippers,  threw  on  a  grey 
astrachan  dressing-gown  which  lay  close  at  hand  (Versilov  had 
sacrificed  it  for  my  benefit),  and  made  my  way  through  the 
parlour  to  what  had  been  mother's  bedroom.  What  I  saw  there 
completely  astounded  me  ;  I  had  never  expected  anything  of 
the  kind,  and  I  stood  still  in  the  doorway  pertified.     There  was 

347 


sitting  there  a  very  grey-headed  old  man,  with  a  big  and  very 
white  beard,  and  it  was  clear  that  he  had  been  sitting  there  for 
a  long  time.  He  was  not  sitting  on  the  bed  but  on  mother's 
little  bench,  resting  his  back  against  the  bed.  He  held  himself 
so  upright,  however,  that  he  hardly  seemed  to  need  a  support 
for  his  back,  though  he  was  evidently  ill.  He  had  over  his  shirt 
a  short  jacket  lined  with  fur.  His  knees  were  covered  with 
mother's  plaid,  and  on  his  feet  were  slippers.  He  was,  it  could 
be  discerned,  tall,  broad-shouldered,  and  of  a  hale  appearance, 
in  spite  of  his  invalid  state,  though  he  was  somewhat  thin  and 
looked  ill.  He  had  rather  a  long  face  and  thick  but  not  very 
long  hair;  he  looked  about  seventy.  On  a  Uttle  table,  within 
reach,  lay  three  or  four  books  and  a  pair  of  silver-rimmed 
spectacles.  Though  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  meeting  him, 
I  guessed  instantly  who  he  was,  though  I  was  still  unable  to 
imagine  how  he  could  have  been  sitting  all  those  days,  almost 
beside  me,  so  quietly  that  till  that  time  I  had  heard  nothing 
of.  him. 

He  did  not  stir  on  seeing  me,  he  looked  intently  at  me  in  silence, 
just  as  I  did  at  him,  the  only  difference  being  that  I  stared  at 
him  with  the  greatest  astonishment,  and  he  looked  at  me  without 
the  slightest.  Scrutinizing  me,  on  the  contrary,  from  head  to 
foot  during  those  five  or  ten  seconds  of  silence,  he  suddenly  smiled 
and  even  laughed  a  gentle  noiseless  laugh,  and  though  the  laugh 
was  soon  over,  traces  of  its  serene  gaiety  remained  upon  his 
face  and  above  all  in  his  eyes,  which  were  very  blue,  luminous  and 
large,  though  they  were  surrounded  by  innumerable  wrinkles, 
and  the  eyelids  were  блуоПсп  and  drooping.  This  laugh  of  his 
was  what  had  most  effect  on  me. 

I  consider  that  in  the  majority  of  cases  people  arc  revolting 
to  look  at  when  they  are  laughing.  As  a  rule  something  vulgar, 
something  as  it  were  degrading,  comes  to  the  surface  when  a 
man  laughs,  though  he  is  almost  unconscious  of  the  impression 
he  is  making  in  his  mirth,  as  little  in  fact  as  anyone  knows  what 
he  looks  like  when  he  is  asleep.  One  person's  face  will  look  in- 
telligent asleep,  while  another  man,  intelligent  in  waking  life, 
will  look  stupid  and  ridiculous  when  he  is  sleeping.  I  don't 
know  what  this  is  due  to  :  I  only  mean  to  say  that  people  laugh- 
ing, like  people  asleep,  have  no  idea  what  they  look  like.  The 
vast  majority  of  people  don't  know  how  to  laugh  at  all.  It  is  not 
a  matter  of  knowing  how,  though  :  it's  a  gift  and  it  cannot  be 
cultivated.     One  can   only  cultivate   it,   perhaps,    bj"^  training 

348 


oneself  to  be  different,  by  developing  and  improving  and  by 
struggling  against  the  evil  instincts  of  one's  character  :  then  a 
man's  laugh  might  very  likely  change  for  the  better.  A  man 
will  sometimes  give  himself  away  completely  by  his  laugh,  and 
you  suddenly  know  him  through  and  through.  Even  an  un- 
mistakably intelligent  laugh  will  sometimes  be  repulsive.  What  is 
most  essential  in  laughter  is  sincerity,  and  where  is  one  to  find 
sincerity  ?  A  good  laugh  must  be  free  from  malice,  and  people 
are  constantly  laughing  maliciously.  A  sincere  laugh  free  from 
malice  is  gaiety,  and  where  does  one  find  gaiety  nowadays  ? 
People  don't  know  how  to  be  gay  (Versilov  made  this  observa- 
tion about  gaiety  and  I  remember  it).  A  man's  gaiety  is  what 
most  betrays  the  whole  man  from  head  to  foot.  Sometimes  one 
will  be  for  a  long  time  unable  to  read  a  character,  but  if  the  man 
begins  to  laugh  his  whole  character  will  suddenly  lie  open  before 
you.  It  is  onl}^  the  loftiest  and  happiest  natures  whose  gaiety 
is  infectious,  that  is,  good-hearted  and  irresistible.  I  am  not 
talking  of  intellectual  development,  but  of  character,  of  the  whole 
man.  And  so  if  you  want  to  see  into  a  man  and  to  understand 
his  soul,  don't  concentrate  your  attention  on  the  way  he  talks 
or  is  silent,  on  his  tears,  or  the  emotion  he  displays  over  exalted 
ideas  ;  you  лу111  see  through  him  better  when  he  laughs.  If  a 
man  has  a  good  laugh,  it  means  that  he  is  a  good  man.  Take 
note  of  every  shade  ;  a  man's  la,ugh  must  never,  for  instance,  strike 
you  as  stupid,  however  gay  and  good-humoured  he  may  be. 
If  you  notice  the  slightest  trace  of  stupidity  in  his  laughter, 
you  may  be  sure  that  that  man  is  of  limited  intelligence,  though 
he  is  continually  dropping  ideas  wherever  he  goes.  Even  if  his 
laugh  is  not  stupid,  but  the  man  himself  strikes  you  as  being 
ever  so  little  ridiculous  when  he  laughs,  you  may  be  sure  that 
the  man  is  deficient  in  personal  dignity,  to  some  extent  anyway. 
Or  if  the  laughter  though  infectious,  strikes  you  for  some  reason 
as  vulgar,  you  may  be  sure  that  that  man's  nature  is  vulgar, 
and  all  the  generous  and  lofty  qualities  you  have  observed  in 
him  before  are  either  intentionally  assumed  or  unconsciously 
borrowed  and  that  the  man  is  certain  to  deteriorate,  to  go  in 
for  the  profitable,  and  to  cast  off  his  noble  ideas  without  regret  as 
the  errors  and  enthusiasm  of  youth. 

I  am  intentionally  introducing  here  this  long  tirade  on  the 
subject  of  laughter  and  am  sacrificing  the  continuitj'  of  my 
story  for  the  sake  of  it,  for  I  consider  it  one  of  the  most  valuable 
deductions  I  have  drawn  from  life,  and  I  particularly  rccom- 

349 


mend  it  to  the  attention  of  girls  who  arc  ready  to  accept  the 
man  of  their  choice,  but  are  still  hesitating  and  watching  him 
mistrustfully,  unable  to  make  their  final  decision  :  and  don't  let 
them  jeer  at  a  wretched  raw  youth  for  obtruding  his  moral 
reflections  on  marriage,  a  subject  which  he  knows  nothing  about. 
But  I  only  understand  that  laughter  is  the  surest  test  of  the  heart. 
Look  at  a  baby — some  children  know  how  to  laugh  to  perfection ; 
a  crying  baby  is  disgusting  to  me,  but  a  laughing,  merry  one 
is  a  sunbeam  from  paradise,  it  is  a  revelation  from  the  future, 
when  man  will  become  at  last  as  pure  and  simple-hrarted  as  a 
child.  And,  indeed,  there  was  something  childlike  and  incredibly 
attractive  in  the  momentary  laughter  of  this  old  man.  I  went 
up  to  him  at  once. 


"  Sit  down,  sit  down  a  bit,  you  can  scarcely  stand  on  your  legs, 
I  dare  say,"  he  urged  me,  motioning  me  to  a  seat  beside  him, 
and  still  gazing  into  my  face  with  the  same  luminous  gaze.  I  sat 
down  beside  him  and  said  : 

"  I  know  you,  you  are  Makar  Ivanovitch." 

"  Yes,  darling.  It's  very  good  that  you  are  up.  You  are 
young,  it  is  good  for  you .  The  old  monk  looks  towards  the  grave, 
but  the  young  must  live." 

"  But  are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  chiefly  in  my  legs  ;  my  feet  brought  me  as  far  as 
the  door,  and  here  I've  sat  down  and  they  are  swollen.  I've  had 
it  since  last  Friday  when  there  were  degrees  "  {i.e.  when  there  was 
a  frost)  "  I  used  to  rub  them  with  ointment  you  see  ;  the  year 
before  last  the  doctor,  Edmond  Karlovitch,  prescribed  it  me  in 
Moscow,  and  the  ointment  did  good,  aye,  it  did  good  ;  but  now 
it's  no  use.  And  my  chest,  too,  is  choked  up.  And  since 
yesterday  my  spine  has  been  bad,  as  though  dogs  were  gnawing 
it.  ...  I  don't  sleep  at  nights." 

"  How  is  it  I  haven't  heard  you  here  at  all  ?  "  I  broke  in.  He 
looked  at  me  as  though  considering  something. 

"  Only  don't  wake  your  mother,"  he  added  as  though  suddenly 
remembering  something.  "  She  has  been  busy  close  at  hand  all 
night,  and  as  quiet  as  a  mouse  ;  and  now  I  know  she  is  lying 
down.  Ach,  it's  bad  for  a  sick  monk,"  he  sighed  ;  "  the  soul 
hangs  by  a  thread  it  seems,  yet  it  still  holds  on,  and  still  is  glad 
of  the  light ;  and  it  seems,  if  all  life  were  to  begin  over  again 

350 


the  soul  would  not  shrink  even  from  that ;  though  maybe  such 
a  thought  is  sinful." 

"  Why  sinful  ?  " 

"  Such  a  thought  is  a  dream,  and  the  old  monk  should  take 
leave  with  blissful  resignation.  Again,  if  one  goes  to  meet 
death  with  murmur  or  repining  that  is  a  great  sin,  but  if  from  the 
gladness  of  the  spirit  one  has  grown  to  love  life,  I  fancy  God  will 
forgive,  even  a  monk.  It's  hard  for  a  man  to  tell  of  every  sin 
what  is  sinful  and  what  is  not ;  therein  is  mystery  passing  the 
mind  of  man.  A  monk  must  be  content  at  all  times,  and  ought 
to  die  in  the  full  light  of  his  understanding,  in  holy  peace  and 
blessedness,  filled  full  with  days,  yearning  for  his  last  hour, 
and  rejoicing  when  he  is  gathered  as  the  ear  of  wheat  to  the  sheaf, 
and  has  fulfilled  his  mystery." 

"  You  keep  talking  of  '  mystery  *  ;  what  does  it  mean  '  having 
fulfilled  his  mystery  '  ?  "  I  asked,  and  looked  round  towards  the 
door.  I  was  glad  that  we  were  alone,  and  that  all  around  the 
stillness  was  unbroken.  The  setting  sun  cast  a  dazzling  light 
on  the  window.  His  talk  was  rather  highflown  and  rambling, 
but  very  sincere  ;  there  was  a  sort  of  intense  exaltation  in  it, 
as  though  he  really  were  delighted  at  my  coming.  But  I  noticed 
unmistakable  signs  that  he  was  feverish,  extremely  so  in  fact. 
I,  too,  was  ill ;  I,  too.  had  been  in  a  fever,  from  the  moment  I 
went  in  to  him. 

"  What  is  the  mystery  ?  Everything  is  a  mystery,  dear ; 
in  all  is  God's  mystery.  In  every  tree,  in  every  blade  of  grass 
that  same  mystery  lies  hid.  Whether  the  tiny  bird  of  the  air 
is  singing,  or  the  stars  in  all  their  multitudes  shine  at  night  in 
heaven,  the  mystery  is  one,  ever  the  same.  And  the  greatest 
mystery  of  all  is  what  awaiteth  the  soul  of  man  in  the  world 
beyond.     So  it  is,  dear  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  in  what  sense  you  ...  I  am  not  speaking,  of 
course,  to  tease  you,  and  I  assure  you  I  believe  in  God  ;  but  all 
these  mysteries  have  long  been  discovered  by  human  intelligence, 
or  if  they  have  not  yet  been  discovered  they  will  be,  for  certain, 
and  probably  in  a  very  short  time.  The  botanist  knows  per- 
fectly well  how  the  tree  grows.  The  psychologist  and  the  anato- 
mist know  why  the  bird  srngs,  or  soon  will  know,  and  as  for  the 
stars,  they  are  not  only  all  counted,  but  all  their  motions  have 
been  calculated  with  the  greatest  exactitude,  so  that  they  can 
predict  even  a  thousand  years  beforehand  the  very  minute 
of  the  appearance  of  some  comet  .  .  .  and  now  even  the  con^posi- 

351 


tion  of  the  most  remote  star  is  known.  You  take  a  microscope, 
that  is  a  sort  of  magnifying  glass  that  magnifies  a  thousand  times, 
and  look  through  it  at  a  drop  of  water,  and  you  will  see  in  it  a 
whole  new  world,  a  whole  world  of  living  creatures,  yet  this,  too, 
was  once  a  mystery,  but  it  has  been  revealed  by  science." 

"  I've  heard  about  that,  darling,  I  have  heard  folk  tell  of  it 
more  than  once.  To  be  sure,  it's  a  great  and  glorious  thing  ; 
all  has  been  vouchsafed  to  man  by  God's  will  ;  not  for  naught 
did  the  Lord  breathe  into  him  the  breath  of  life  ;  '  live  and 
learn.'  " 

"  That's  a  commonplace.  You're  not  antagonistic  to  science 
though,  not  a  clerical  ?  though  I  don't  know  whether  you'll 
understand  ?  " 

"  No,  darling,  I  did  not  study  science  in  my  youth,  and  though 
I  am  not  learned  I  do  not  repine  at  that ;  if  it's  not  for  me  it  will 
be  for  another.  Maybe  better  so,  for  every  man  has  his  allotted 
part,  for  science,  dear,  is  not  of  use  for  all.  All  men  are  unbridled, 
each  wants  to  astonish  all  the  world,  and  I  should  have  perhaps 
more  than  all  if  I  had  been  learned.  But  now  being  very  un- 
learned, how  can  I  be  puffed  up  when  I  know  nothing  ?  You, 
now,  are  young  and  clever,  you  must  study — such  is  the  lot 
ordained  you.  Understand  all  things,  that  when  you  meet  an 
infidel  or  an  evil-doer  you  may  1)^  able  to  answer  him,  and  he  may 
not  lead  you  astray  with  his  frantic  words,  or  confound  your 
unripe  thoughts.     That  glass  I  saw-  not  so  long  ago." 

He  took  breath  and  heaved  a  sigh.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
my  coming  in  was  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to  him.  His 
desire  to  be  communicative  was  almost  morbid.  What  is  more, 
I  am  certainly  not  mistaken  in  declaring  that  at  moments  he 
looked  at  me  with  extraordinary  affection  ;  he  laid  his  h;ind  on 
mine  caressingly,  stroked  me  on  the  shoulder  .  .  .  though  there 
were  minutes  when  I  must  confess  he  seemed  to  forget  all  about 
me,  as  though  he  had  been  sitting  alone,  and  though  he  went  on 
talking  Avarmly,  it  seemed  at  tiraes  as  though  he  were  talking  to 
the  air. 

"  In  the  Gennadiev  desert,  dear,  there  lives  a  man  of  great 
understanding.  He  is  of  noble  birth,  and  by  rank  a  major, 
and  he  has  great  possessions.  When  he  lived  in  the  world  he 
would  not  be  bound  by  marriage  ;  he  has  been  withdrawn  from 
the  world  for  nearly  ten  years,  loving  still  and  silent  resting- 
places,  and  keeping  his  heart  free  from  worldly  vanities.  He 
follows  all  the  monastic  rules,  but  will  not  become  a  monk. 

352 


and  he  has  so  many  books,  dear,  as  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other 
man's  possession ;  he  told  me  himself  that  his  books  were  worth 
eight  thousand  roubles.  Н1з  name  is  Pyotr  Valerianitch.  He 
has  taught  me  a  great  deal  at  different  times,  and  I  loved  listen- 
ing to  him  exceedingly.  I  said  to  him  once  :  *  How  is  it,  sir, 
that  with  your  great  understanding,  after  living  here  ten  years 
in  monastic  obedience,  and  in  complete  renunciation  of  your  will, 
how  is  it  you  don't  take  honourable  vows,  so  as  to  be  still  more 
perfect, '  and  he  said  to  me  thereupon, ' '  You  talk  of  my  understand- 
ing.old  man,  but  perhaps  my  understanding  has  held  me  in  bondage 
and  I  have  not  kept  it  in  submission.  And  you  speak  of  my 
obedience  ;  maybe  I've  long  since  lost  the  right  measure  for  my- 
self. And  you  talk  of  the  remmciation  of  my  will ;  I  am  ready  to 
be  deprived  of  my  money  on  the  spot  and  to  give  up  my  rank  and  to 
lay  aU  my  medals  and  ribbons  on  the  table,  but  my  pipe  of  tobacco, 
though  I've  been  struggling  for  ten  years,  I  can't  do  without. 
What  sort  of  a  monk  should  I  be,  and  how  could  you  glorify  the 
renunciation  of  my  will  ?  *  And  I  marvelled  then  at  this  humility. 
Well,  last  year,  about  St.  Peter's  day,  I  went  again  to  that  desert 
— the  Lord  led  me  there — and  I  saw  standing  in  his  cell  that  very 
thing,  a  microscope  ;  he  had  ordered  it  for  a  great  sum  of  money 
from  abroad.  '  Stay,'  said  he,  '  old  man,  I'll  show  you  a  marvel- 
lous thing  you  have  never  hitherto  looked  upon  ;  you  see  a  drop 
of  water  as  pure  as  a  tear ;  well,  look  what  is  in  it  and  you  will 
see  that  the  mechanicians  will  soon  seek  out  all  the  mysteries 
of  God  and  not  leave  one  for  either  you  or  me  ! '  That  is  what 
he  said,  I  remember.  But  I  had  looked  through  such  a  micro- 
scope thirty-five  years  before  that,  at  Alexandr  Vladimirovitch 
Malgasov's,  who  was  our  old  master,  Audrey  Petrovitch's  maternal 
uncle.  It  was  from  him  the  property  came  on  his  death  со  Andrey 
Petrovitch.  He  was  a  grand  gentleman,  a  great  general,  and  he 
used  to  keep  a  pack  of  hounds,  and  I  lived  many  years  with 
him  as  huntsman ;  so  he,  too,  set  up  this  microscope  ;  he 
brought  it  with  him,  and  he  told  all  the  servants  to  come  up 
one  after  another,  male  and  female,  and  look  through  ;  he  showed 
them  a  flea  and  a  louse  and  the  end  of  a  needle,  and  a  hair  and  a 
drop  of  water.  And  it  was  diverting,  they  were  afraid  to  go  up 
and  afraid  of  the  master — he  was  hasty.  Some  did  not  know  how 
to  look  properly,  and  the  elder  saw  nothing ;  others  were  frightened 
and  cried  out ;  the  elder  Savin  Makarov  covered  his  eyes  with 
both  hands  and  cried,  '  Do  what  you  will  with  me,  I  won't  go 
near  ! '    There  was  much  foolish  laughter.    I  didn't  confess  to 

353 


Pyotr  Valerianitch,  though,  that  I  had  seen  this  marvel  before 
more  than  thirty- five  years  ago,  because  I  saw  it  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  him  showing  it ;  I  began,  on  the  contrary,  admiring  . 
it  and  marvelling.  He  waited  a  bit  and  asked,  '  Well,  old  man, 
what  do  you  say  now  ?  '  And  I  lifted  myself  up  and  said  to 
him,  *  The  Lord  said,  Let  there  be  light  and  there  was  hght,* 
and  thereiipon  he  said  to  me  all  at  once,  'And  was  there  not  dark- 
ness ?  '  And  he  said  that  so  strangely,  he  did  not  even  laugh. 
I  wondered  at  him  then,  and  he  seemed  to  be  angered  and  said 
no  more." 

"  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  your  Pyotr  Valerianitch  is  eating 
rice  and  raisins  in  the  monastery,  and  bowing  to  the  ground, 
while  he  does  not  believe  in  God,  and  you  hit  on  the  wrong 
moment,  that's  all,"  I  said.  "  And  what's  more,  he  is  rather  an 
absurd  person  :  I  suppose  he  must  have  seen  that  microscope 
a  dozen  times  before,  why  should  he  go  off  his  head  when  he 
saw  it  for  the  thirteenth  ?  What  nervous  susceptibility  .  .  . 
he  must  have  got  that  from  living  in  a  monastery." 

"  He  was  a  man  of  pure  life  and  lofty  mind,"  the  old  man  pro- 
nounced impressively,  "and  he  was  not  an  infidel.  There  w£is 
a  cloud  over  his  mind  and  his  heart  was  not  at  peace.  Very  many 
such  men  have  come  nowadays  from  the  ranks  of  the  gentry 
and  learned.  And  something  more  I  will  tell  you,  a  man  punishes 
himself.  But  you  watch  them  and  do  not  worry  them,  and  before 
you  lie  down  to  sleep  at  night  remember  them  in  your  prayers, 
for  such  are  seeking  God.     Do  you  pray  at  night  ?  " 

"  No,  I  regard  it  as  an  empty  ceremony.  I  must  own,  though, 
that  I  like  your  Pyotr  Valerianitch.  He's  not  a  man  of  straw, 
anyway,  but  a  real  person,  rather  like  a  man  very  near  and  well- 
known  to  us  both." 

The  old  man  only  paid  attention  to  the  first  part  of  my  answer. 
"  You're  wrong,  my  dear,  not  to  pray ;  it  is  a  good  thing,  it 
cheers  the  heart  before  sleep,  and  rising  up  from  sleep  and  awaken- 
ing in  the  night.  Let  me  tell  you  this.  In  the  summer  in  July 
we  were  hastening  to  the  monastery  of  Our  Lady  for  the  holy 
festival.  The  nearer  we  got  to  the  place  the  greater  the  crowd  of 
people,  and  at  last  there  were  almost  two  hundred  of  us  gathered 
together,  all  hastening  to  kiss  the  holy  and  miraculous  reUcs 
of  the  two  great  saints,  Aniky  and  Grigory.  We  spent  the  night, 
brother,  in  the  open  country,  and  I  waked  trp  early  in  the  morn- 
ing when  all  was  still  sleeping  and  the  dear  sun  had  not  yet 
peeped  out  from  behind  the  forest.     I  hfted  up  my  bead,  dear, 

354 


I  gazed  about  me  and  sighed.  Everywhere  beauty  passing  all 
utterance  !  All  was  still,  the  air  was  light ;  the  grass  grows — 
Grow,  grass  of  God,  the  bird  sings — Sing,  bird  of  God,  the  babe 
cries  in  the  woman's  arms — God  be  with  you,  little  man ;  grow 
and  be  happy,  little  babe  !  And  it  seemed  that  only  then  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  took  it  all  in.  ...  I  lay  down  again, 
I  slept  so  sweetly.  Life  is  sweet,  dear  !  If  I  were  better,  1 
should  like  to  go  out  again  in  the  spring.  And  that  it's  a  mystery 
makes  it  only  the  better  ;  it  fills  the  heart  with  awe  and  wonder  ; 
and  that  awe  maketh  glad  the  heart :  *  All  is  in  Thee  my  Lord, 
and  I,  too,  am  in  Thee  ;  have  me  in  Thy  keeping.'  Do  not  repine, 
young  man  ;  it  is  even  more  beautiful  because  it  is  a  mystery," 
he  added  fervently. 

"  It's  the  more  beautiful  for  being  a  mystery.  ...  I  will 
remember  those  words.  You  express  yourself  very  inaccurately, 
but  I  understand  you.  ...  It  strikes  me  that  you  understand 
and  know  a  great  deal  more  than  you  can  express  ;  only  you 
seem  to  be  in  delirium."  ...  I  added  abruptly,  looking  at  his 
feverish  eyes  and  pale  face.  But  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  my 
words. 

"  Do  you  know,  dear  young  man,"  he  began  again,  as  though 
going  on  with  what  he  had  been  saying  before  :  "  Do  you  know 
there  is  a  limit  to  the  memory  of  a  man  on  this  earth  ?  The 
memory  of  a  man  is  limited  to  a  hundred  years.  For  a  hundred 
years  after  his  death  his  children  or  his  grandchildren  who  have 
seen  his  face  can  still  remember  him,  but  after  that  though  his 
memory  may  still  remain,  it  is  only  by  hearsay,  in  thought,  for  all 
who  have  seen  his  living  face  have  gone  before.  And  his  grave 
in  the  churchyard  is  overgrown  with  grass,  the  stones  upon  it 
crumble  away,  and  all  men,  and  even  his  children's  children, 
forget  him  ;  afterwards  they  forget  even  his  name,  for  only  a  few 
are  kept  in  the  memory  of  men — and  so  be  it !  You  may  forget 
me,  dear  ones,  but  I  love  you  from  the  tomb.  I  hear,  my  children, 
your  gay  voices  ;  I  hear  your  steps  on  the  graves  of  your  kin : 
live  for  a  while  in  the  sunshine,  rejoice  and  I  will  pray  to  God 
for  you,  I  will  come  to  you  in  your  dreams  .  ,  ,  it  is  all  the 
same — even  in  death  is  love  !...." 

I  was  myself  in  the  same  feverish  state  as  he  was ;  instead  of 
going  away  or  persuading  him  to  be  quiet,  or  perhaps  putting' 
him  to  bed,  for  he  seemed  quite  delirious,  I  suddenly  seized  his 
arm  and  bending  down  to  him  and  squeezing  his  hand,  I  said 
m  an  excited  whisper,  v,ith  inward  tears ; 

355 


"  I  am  glad  of  you.  I  have  been  waiting  a  long  time  for  you, 
perhaps.  I  don't  like  any  of  them  ;  there  is  no  '  seemliness  ' 
in  them  ...  I  won't  follow  them,  I  don't  know  where  I'm 
going,  I'll  go  with  you."  .  .  .  But  luckily  mother  suddenly  came 
in,  or  I  don't  know  how  it  would  have  ended.  She  came  in  only 
just  awako  and  looking  agitated  ;  in  her  hand  she  had  a  table- 
spoon and  a  glass  ;   seeing  us  she  exclaimed  : 

"  1  knew  lo  would  be  so  !  I  am  late  with  his  quinine  and  he's 
all  in  a  fever  !     I  overslept  myself,  Makar  Ivanovitch,  darlinf. !  " 

I  got  up  and  went  out.  She  gave  him  his  quinine  and  put  him 
to  bed.  I,  too,  lay  down  on  mine  in  a  state  of  great  excite- 
ment. I  tossed  about  pondering  on  this  meeting  with  intense 
interest  and  curiosity.  What  I  expected  from  it  I  don't  know. 
Of  course,  my  reasoning  was  disconnected,  and  not  thoughts 
but  fragments  of  thought»  flitted  through  my  brain.  I  lay  with 
my  face  to  the  wall,  and  suddenly  I  saw  in  the  comer  the  patch 
of  glowing  light  which  I  had  been  looking  forward  to  with  such 
curses,  and  now  I  remember  my  whole  soul  seemed  to  be  leaping 
for  joy,  and  a  new  Ught  seemed  penetrating  to  my  heart.  I 
remember  that  sweet  moment  and  I  do  not  want  to  forget  it. 
It  was  only  an  instant  of  new  hope  and  new  strength.  ...  I 
was  convalescent  then,  and  therefore  such  transports  may  have 
been  the  inevitable  result  of  the  state  of  my  nerves  ;  but  I  have 
faith  even  now  in  that  bright  hope — that  is  what  I  wanted  to 
record  and  to  recall.  Of  course,  even  then  I  knew  quite  well 
that  I  should  not  go  on  a  pilgrimage  with  Makar  Ivanovitch, 
and  that  I  did  not  know  the  nature  of  the  new  impulse  that  had 
taken  hold  of  me,  but  I  had  pronounced  one  word,  though  in 
delirium,  "  There  is  no  seemliness  in  their  lives  !  "  "  Of  course," 
I  thought  in  a  frenzy ,  "from  this  minute  I  am  seeking 'seemliness,' 
and  they  have  none  of  it,  and  that  is  why  I  am  leaving  them." 

There  was  a  rustle  behind  me,  I  turned  round  :  mother  stood 
there  bending  down  to  me  and  looking  with  timid  inquiry  into 
my  face.     I  took  her  hand. 

"  Why  did  you  tell  me  nothing  about  our  dear  guest,  mother  ?  " 
I  asked  suddenly,  not  knowing  I  was  going  to  say  it.  All  the 
uneasiness  vanished  from  her  face  at  once,  and  there  was  a  flush 
ae  it  were  of  joy,  but  she  made  me  no  reply  except  the  words  : 

"  Liza,  don't  forget  Liza,  either ;   you've  forgotten  Liza." 

She  said  this  in  a  hurried  murmur,  flushing  crimson,  and  would 
Have  made  haste  to  get  away,  for  above  all  things  she  hated 
displaying  her  feelings,  and  in  that  she  was  like  me,  that  is 

356 


reverent  and  delicate  ;  of  course,  too,  she  would  not  care  to 
begin  on  the  subject  of  Makar  Ivanovitch  with  me  ;  what  we 
could  say  to  each  other  with  our  eyes  was  quite  enough.  But 
though  I  hated  demonstrativeness,  I  still  kept  her  by  her  hand  ; 
I  looked  tenderly  into  her  eyes,  and  laughed  softly  and  tendirly, 
and  with  my  other  hand  stroked  her  dear  face,  her  hollow  cheeks. 
She  bent  down  and  pressed  her  forehead  to  mine. 

"  Well,  Christ  be  with  you,"  she  said  suddenly,  standing  up, 
beaming  all  over  :  "  get  well,  I  shall  count  on  your  doing  so.  He 
is  ill,  verj^  ill.  Life  is  in  God's  hands.  ,  .  .  Ach,  what  have  I 
said,  oh  that  could  not  be  !  .  .  ." 

She  went  away.  All  her  life,  in  fear  and  trembling  and  rever- 
ence, she  had  honoured  her  legal  husband,  the  monk,  Makar 
Ivanovitch,  who  with  large-hearted  generosity  had  forgiven  her 
once  and  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  II 


I  HAD  not  '  forgotten  '  Liza  ;  mother  was  mistaken.  The  keen- 
sighted  mother  saw  that  there  was  something  like  coolness  between 
brother  and  sister,  but  it  was  rather  jealousy  than  lack  of  love. 
In  view  of  what  followed,  I  will  explain  in  a  couple  of  words. 
Ever  since  Prince  Sergay's  arrest,  poor  Liza  had  shown  a  sort  of 
conceited  pride,  an  unapproachable  haughtiness,  almost  un- 
endurable ;  but  every  one  in  the  house  knew  the  truth  and  under- 
stood how  she  was  suffering,  and  if  at  first  I  scowled  and  was 
sulky  at  her  manner  with  us,  it  was  simply  owing  to  my  petty 
iгritabiUt^^  increased  tenfold  by  illness — that  is  how  I  explain 
it  now.  I  had  not  ceased  to  love  Liza  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  loved 
her  more  than  ever,  only  I  did  not  want  to  be  the  first  to  make 
advances,  though  I  understood  that  nothing  would  have  induced 
her  either  to  make  the  first  advances. 

As  soon  as  all  the  facts  came  out  about  Prince  Sergay,  that  is, 
immediately  after  his  arrest,  Liza  made  haste  at  once  to  take  up 
an  attitude  to  us,  and  to  every  one  else,  that  would  not  admit 
of  the  possibility  of  sympathy  or  any  sort  of  consolation  and 
excuses  for  Prince  Sergay.  On  the  contrary,  she  seemed  con- 
tinually pricing  herself  on  her  luckless  lover's  action  as  though 
it  were  the  loftiest  heroism,  though  she  tried  to  avoid  all  dis- 

357 


cussion  of  the  subject.  She  seemed  every  moment  to  be  tellii^ 
us  ail  (though  I  repeat  that  she  did  not  utter  a  word),  '  None 
of  you  would  do  the  same — you  would  not  give  yourself  up  -at 
the  dictates  of  honour  and  duty,  none  of  you  have  such  a  pure 
and  delicate  conscience  !  And  as  for  his  misdeeds,  who  has  not 
evil  actions  upon  his  conscience  ?  Only  every  one  conceals  them, 
and  this  man  preferred  facing  ruin  to  remaining  ignoble  in  his 
own  eyes.'  This  seemed  to  be  expressed  by  every  gesture 
Liza  made.  I  don't  know,  but  I  think  in  her  place  I  shovdd 
have  behaved  almost  in  the  same  way.  I  don't  know  either 
whether  those  were  the  thoughts  in  her  heart,  in  fact  I  privately 
suspect  that  they  were  not.  With  the  other,  clear  part  of  her 
reason,  she  must  have  seen  through  the  insignificance  of  her 
'  hero,'  for  who  will  not  agree  now  that  that  unhappy  man, 
noble-hearted  in  his  own  way  as  he  was,  was  at  the  same  time 
an  absolutely  insignificant  person  ?  This  very  haughtiness  and 
as  it  were  antagonism  towards  us  all,  this  constant  suspicious- 
ness that  we  were  thinking  differently  of  him,  made  one  surmise 
that  in  the  secret  recesses  of  her  heart  a  very  different  judg- 
ment of  her  unhappy  friend  had  perhaps  been  formed.  But  I 
hasten  to  add,  however,  that  in  my  eyes  she  was  at  least  half  right ; 
it  was  more  pardonable  for  her  than  for  any  of  us  to  hesitate  in 
drawing  the  final  conclusion.  I  will  admit  with  my  whole 
heart  that  even  now,  when  all  is  over,  I  don't  know  at  all  how 
tij  judge  the  unhappy  man  who  was  such  a  problem  to  us  all. 

Home  was  beginning  to  be  almost  a  little  hell  on  account  of 
her.  Liza  whose  love  was  so  intense  was  bound  to  suffer  terribly. 
It  was  characteristic  of  her  to  prefer  to  suffer  in  silence.  Her 
character  was  like  mine,  proud  and  domineering,  and  I  thought 
then,  and  I  think  now  that  it  was  that  that  made  her  love  Prince 
Sergay,  just  because  he  had  no  will  at  all,  and  that  from  the 
first  word,  from  the  first  hour,  he  was  utterly  in  subjection  to  her. 
This  comes  about  of  itself,  in  the  heart,  without  any  preliminary 
calculation  ;  but  such  a  love,  the  love  of  the  strong  woman  for 
the  weak  man,  is  sometimes  incomparably  more  intense  and 
more  agonizing  than  the  love  of  equal  characters,  because  the 
stronger  unconsciously  undertakes  responsibility  for  the  weaker. 
That  is  what  I  think  at  any  rate. 

All  the  family  from  the  first  surrotmded  her  with  the  tenderest 
care,  especially  mother  ;  but  Liza  was  not  softened,  she  did  not 
respond  to  sympathy,  and  seemed  to  repulse  every  sort  of  help. 
At  fiirst  she  did  talk  lo  mother,  but  every  day  she  became  more 

358 


reluctant  to  speak,  more  abrupt  and  even  more  harsh.  She 
asked  Versilov's  advice  at  first,  but  soon  afterwards  she  chose 
Vassin  for  her  counsellor  and  helper,  as  I  learned  afterwards 
with  surprise.  .  .  . 

She  went  to  see  Vassin  every  day  ;  she  went  to  the  law  courts, 
too,  by  Prince  Sergay's  instructions  ;  she  went  to  the  lawyers,  to 
the  crown  prosecutor ;  she  came  in  the  end  to  being  absent  from 
home  for  whole  days  together.  Twice  a  day,  of  course,  she 
visited  Prince  Sergay,  who  was  in  prison,  in  the  division  for 
noblemen,  but  these  interviews,  as  I  was  fully  convinced  later, 
were  very  distressing  to  Liza.  Of  course  no  third  person  can 
judge  of  the  relations  of  two  lovers.  But  I  know  that  Prince 
Sergay  was  always  wounding  her  deeply,  and  by  what  do  you 
suppose  ?  Strange  to  say,  by  his  continual  jealousy.  Of  that, 
however,  I  wiU  speak  later ;  but  I  will  add  one  thought  on  the 
subject :  it  would  be  hard  to  decide  which  of  them  tormented 
the  other  more.  Though  with  us  ?he  prided  herself  on  her  hero, 
Liza  perhaps  behaved  quite  differently  alone  with  him  ;  I 
suspect  so  indeed  from  various  facts,  of  which,  however,  I  will 
also  speak  later. 

And  so,  as  regards  my  feeling  and  my  attitude  towards  Liza, 
any  external  change  there  was  was  only  simulated,  a  jealous 
deception  on  both  sides,  but  we  had  never  loved  each  other 
more  than  at  that  time.  I  must  add,  too,  that  though  Liza 
showed  surprise  and  interest  when  Makar  Ivanovitch  first 
arrived,  she  had  since  for  some  reason  begim  to  treat  him  almost 
disdainfully,  even  contemptuously.  She  seemed  intentionally 
to  take  not  the  slightest  notice  of  him. 

Having  inwardly  vowed  "  to  be  silent,"  as  I  explained  in  the 
previous  chapter,  I  expected,  of  course  theoretically,  that  is  in 
my  dreams,  to  keep  my  word.  Oh,  with  Versilov,  for  instance,  I 
would  have  sooner  begun  talking  of  zoology  or  of  the  Roman 
Emperors,  than  of  her  for  example,  or  of  that  most  important 
line  in  his  letter  to  her,  in  which  he  informed  her  that  '  the  docu- 
ment was  not  burnt  but  in  existence ' — a  line  on  which  I  began 
pondering  to  myself  again  as  soon  as  I  had  begim  to  recover 
and  come  to  my  senses  after  my  fever.  But  alas  !  from  the 
first  steps  towards  practice,  and  almost  before  the  first  steps, 
I  realized  how  difficult  and  impossible  it  was  to  stick  to 
such  resolutions :  the  day  after  my  first  acquaintance  with 
Makar  Ivanovitch,  I  was  fearfully  excited  by  an  imexpected 
circumstance. 

359 


I  was  excited  by  an  unexpected  visit  from  Darya  Onisimovna, 
the  mother  of  the  dead  girl,  Olya.  From  my  mother  I  had 
heard  that  she  had  come  once  or  twice  dtiring  my  iUness,  and 
that  she  was  very  much  concerned  about  my  condition.  Whether 
"that  good  woman,"  as  my  mother  always  called  her  when  she 
spoke  of  her,  had  come  entirely  on  my  account,  or  whether  she 
had  come  to  visit  my  mother  in  accordance  with  an  established 
custom,  I  did  not  ask.  Mother  usually  told  me  all  the  news  of 
the  household  to  entertain  me  when  she  came  with  my  soup  to 
feed  me  (before  I  could  feed  myself)  :  I  always  tried  to  appear 
iminterested  in  these  domestic  details,  and  so  I  did  not  ask 
about  Darya  Onisimovna ;  in  fact,  I  said  nothing  about  her  at 
all. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  ;  I  was  just  meaning  to  get  out  of 
bed  and  install  myself  in  the  armchair  by  the  table,  when  she 
came  in.  I  purposely  remained  in  bed.  Mother  was  very  busy 
upstairs  and  did  not  come  down,  so  that  we  were  left  alone. 
She  sat  down  on  a  chair  by  the  wall  facing  me,  smiled  and  said 
not  a  word.  I  foresaw  this  pause,  and  her  entrance  altogether 
made  an  irritating  impression  on  me.  Without  even  nodding  to 
her,  I  looked  her  straight  in  the  face,  but  she  too  looked  straight 
at  me. 

"  Are  you  dull  in  your  flat  now  the  prince  has  gone  ?  "  I  asked, 
suddenly  losing  patience. 

*'  No,  I  am  not  in  that  flat  now.  Through  Anna  Andreyevna 
I  am  looking  after  his  honour's  baby  полу." 

"  Whose  baby  ?  " 

"  Andrey  Petrovitch's,"  she  brought  out  in  a  confidential 
whisper,  glancing  round  towards  the  door. 

"  Why,  but  there's  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  Anna  Andreyevna,  both  of 
them,  and  Lizaveta  Makarovna  also,  and  уош*  mamma  ...  all 
of  them.  They  all  take  an  interest ;  Tatyana  Pavlovna  and 
Anna  Andreyevna  are  great  friends  now." 

A  piece  of  news  !  She  grew  much  livelier  as  she  talked.  I 
looked  at  her  with  hatred. 

"  You  are  much  livelier  than  when  you  came  to  see  me  last." 

•'  Oh,  yes." 

360 


*'  I  think,  you've  grown  stouter  ?  " 

She  looked  strangely  at  me  : 

"  I  have  grown  very  fond  of  her,  very.'* 

"  Fond  of  whom  ?  " 

"  Why,  Anna  Andreyevna.  Very  fond.  Such  a  noble  young 
lady,  and  with  such  judgment.  ..." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !     What  about  her,  how  are  things  now  ?  " 

"  She  is  very  quiet,  very." 

"  She  was  always  quiet." 

"  Always." 

"  If  you've  come  here  with  scandal,"  I  cried  suddenly,  unable 
to  restrain  myself,  "  let  me  tell  you  that  I  won't  have  anj^hing 
to  do  with  it,  I  have  decided  to  drop  .  .  .  everything,  every  one. 
...  I  don't  care — I  am  going  away  !  .  .  ." 

I  ceased  suddenly,  for  I  realized  what  I  was  doing.  I  felt  it 
degrading  to  explain  my  new  projects  to  her.  She  heard  me 
without  surprise  and  without  emotion.  But  again  a  pause 
followed,  again  she  got  up,  went  to  the  door  and  peeped  into  the 
next  room.  Having  assured  herself  that  there  was  no  one  there, 
and  we  were  alone,  she  returned  with  great  composure  and  sat 
down  in  the  same  place  as  before. 

"  You  did  that  prettily  !  "  I  laughed  suddenly. 

"  You  are  keeping  on  your  lodging  at  the  clerk's  1  "  she  asked 
suddenly,  bending  a  little  towards  me,  and  dropping  her  voice  as 
though  this  question  were  the  chief  object  for  which  she  had  come. 

"  Lodging  ?     I  don't  know.     Perhaps  I  shall  give  it  up.  .  . 
How  do  I  know  ?  " 

"  They  are  anxiously  expecting  you  :  the  man's  very  im- 
patient to  see  you,  and  his  wife  too.  Andrey  Petrovitch  assured 
them  you'd  come  back  for  certain." 

"  But  what  is  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Anna  Andreyevna  wanted  to  know,  too ;  she  was  very 
glad  to  learn  that  you  were  staying." 

"  How  does  she  know  so  positively  that  I  shall  certainly  stay 
on  at  that  lodging  ?  " 

I  wanted  to  add,  "  And  what  is  it  to  her,"  but  I  refrained  from 
asking  through  pride. 

"  And  M.  Lambert  said  the  same  thing,  too." 

"  Wha-at  ?  " 

"  M.  Lambert,  he  declared  most  positively  to  Andrey  Petro- 
\'itch  that  you  would  remain,  and  he  assured  Anna  Andreyevna 
of  it,  too." 

361 


I  felt  shaken  all  over.  What  marvels!  Then  Lambert  already 
knew  Versilov,  Lambert  had  found  his  way  to  Versilov — Lambert 
and  Anna  Andreyevna — he  had  found  his  way  to  her  too  !  I 
felt  overcome  with  fever,  but  I  kept  silent.  My  soul  was  flooded- 
with  a  terrible  rush  of  pride,  pride  or  I  don't  know  what. 
But  I  suddenly  said  to  myself  at  that  moment,  "If  I  ask 
for  one  word  in  explanation,  I  shall  be  involved  in  that  world 
again,  and  I  shall  never  have  done  with  it."  There  was  a  glow 
of  hate  in  my  heart.  I  resolutely  made  up  my  mind  to  be 
mute,  and  to  lie  without  moving ;  she  was  silent  too,  for  a 
full  minute. 

"  What  of  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanovitch  ?  '*  I  asked  suddenly, 
as  though  I  had  taken  leave  of  my  senses.  The  fact  is,  I  asked 
simply  to  change  the  subject,  and  again  I  chanced  to  ask  the 
leading  question  ;  like  a  madman  I  pltmged  back  again  into 
that  world  from  which  I  had  just  before,  with  such  a  shudder, 
resolved  to  flee. 

"  His  honour  is  at  Tsarskoe  Syelo.  He  is  rather  poorly ;  and 
as  the  hot  days  have  begun  in  town,  they  all  advised  him  to 
move  to  their  house  at  Tsarskoe  for  the  sake  of  the  air." 

I  made  no  answer. 

"  Madame  and  Anna  Andreyevna  visit  him  there  twice  a 
week,  they  go  together." 

Anna  Ajidreyevna  and  Madame  (that  is  she)  were  friends  then  ! 
They  go  together  !     I  did  not  speak. 

"  They  have  become  so  friendly,  and  Anna  Andreyevna  speaks 
so  highly  of  Katerina  Nikolaevna.  ..." 

I  still  remained  silent. 

"  And  Katerina  Nikolaevna  is  in  a  whirl  of  society  again  ;  it's 
one  fete  after  another  ;  she  is  making  quite  a  stir  ;  they  say  all 
the  gentlemen  at  coiu-t  are  in  love  with  her  .  .  .  and  every- 
thing's over  with  M.  Buring,  and  there's  to  be  no  wedding  ;  so 
everybody  declares  .  .  .  it's  been  off  ever  since  then." 

That  is  since  Versilov's  letter.  I  trembled  all  over,  but  I  did 
not  utter  a  word. 

"Anna  Andreyevna  is  so  sorry  about  Prince  Sergay,  and 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  too,  and  they  all  say  that  he  will  be  acquitted 
and  that  Stebelkov  will  be  condemned.  .  .  ." 

I  looked  at  her  with  hatred.  She  got  up  and  suddenly  bent 
down  to  me. 

"  Anna  Andreyevna  particularly  told  me  to  find  out  how  jou 
are,"  she  said  quite  in  a  whisper  ;   "  and  she  particularly  begged 

362 


you  to  go  and  see  her  as  soon  as  you  begin  to  go  out ;  good-bye. 
Make  haste  and  get  well  and  I'll  tell  her.  ..." 

She  went  away.  I  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  a  cold  sweat 
came  out  on  my  forehead,  but  I  did  not  feel  terror  :  the  incredible 
and  grotesque  news  about  Lambert  and  his  machinations  did  not, 
for  instance,  fill  me  with  horror  in  the  least,  as  might  have  been 
expected  from  the  dread,  perhaps  unaccountable,  with  which 
during  my  illness  and  the  early  days  of  my  convalescence  I 
recalled  my  meeting  with  him  on  that  night.  On  the  contrary, 
in  that  first  moment  of  confusion,  as  I  sat  on  the  bed  after  Darya 
Onisimovna  had  gone,  my  mind  did  not  dwell  on  Lambert,  but 
.  ,  .  more  than  all  I  thought  about  the  news  of  her,  of  her 
rupture  with  Biiring,  and  of  her  success  in  society,  of  her  fetes, 
of  her  triumphs,  of  the  "  stir  "  she  was  making.  "  She's  making 
quite  a  stir,"  Darya  Onisimovna's  phrase,  was  ringing  in  my  ears. 
And  I  suddenly  felt  that  I  had  not  the  strength  to  struggle  out 
of  that  whirlpool ;  I  had  known  how  to  control  myself,  to  hold 
my  tongue  and  not  to  question  Darya  Onisimovna  after  her  tales 
of  marvels  !  An  overwhelming  thirst  for  that  life,  for  their  life, 
took  possession  of  my  whole  spirit  and  .  .  .  and  another  blissful 
thirst  which  I  felt  as  a  keen  joy  and  an  intense  pain.  My  thoughts 
were  in  a  whirl ;  but  I  let  them  whirl.  .  .  .  "  Why  be  reasonable," 
I  felt.  "  Even  mother  kept  Lambert's  coming  a  secret,"  I 
thought,  in  incoherent  snatches.  "  Versilov  must  have  told  her 
not  to  speak  of  it.  ...  I  would  rather  die  than  ask  Versilov 
about  Lambert !  " 

"  Versilov,"  the  thought  flashed  upon  me  again.  "  Versilov  and 
Lambert.  Oh,  what  a  lot  that's  new  among  them  !  Bravo, 
Versilov  !  He  frightened  the  German  Buring  with  that  letter  ; 
he  libelled  her,  la  calomnie  .  .  .  il  en  reste  tonjours  qutlque 
chose,  and  the  German  courtier  was  afraid  of  the  scandal.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
it's  a  lesson  for  her." 

"  Lambert  .  .  .  surely  Lambert  hasn't  found  his  way  to 
her  ?  To  be  sure  he  has  !  Why  shouldn't  she  have  an  intrigue 
with  him  1  " 

At  this  point  I  suddenly  gave  up  pondering  on  this  senseless 
tangle,  and  sank  back  in  despair  with  my  head  on  my  pillow. 
"  But  it  shall  not  be,"  I  exclaimed  with  sudden  determination. 
I  jumped  out  of  bed,  put  on  my  slippers  and  dressing-gown,  and 
went  straight  to  Makar  Ivanovitch's  room,  as  though  there  were 
in  it  a  talisman  to  repel  all  enticements,  a  means  of  salvation, 
and  an  anchor  to  which  I  could  cling. 

363 


It  may  really  have  been  that  I  was  feeling  this  at  the  time  with 
my  whole  soul ;  else  why  should  I  have  leaped  up  with  such  a 
sudden  and  irresistible  impulse  and  rushed  in  to  Makar  Ivano- 
vitch  in  cuch  a  state  of  mind  ? 


But  to  my  surprise  I  found  other  people — my  mother  and 
the  doctor — with  Makar  Ivanovitch.  As  1  had  for  some  reason 
imagined  I  should  find  the  old  man  alone,  as  he  had  been  yester- 
day, I  stopped  short  in  the  doorway  in  blank  amazement. 
Before  I  had  time  to  frown,  Versilov  came  in  followed  by  Liza. 
...  So  they  had  all  met  for  some  reason  in  Makar  Ivanovitch's 
room  "  just  when  they  were  not  wanted  !  " 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  how  you  are,"  I  said,  going  straight  up 
to  Makar  Ivanovitch  . 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,  I  was  expecting  you  ;  I  knew  you 
would  come  ;   I  was  thinking  of  you  in  the  night." 

He  looked  into  my  face  caressingly,  and  I  saw  that  perhaps 
he  hked  me  best  of  them  all,  but  I  could  not  help  seeing  instantly 
that,  though  his  face  was  cheerful,  his  illness  had  made  progress 
in  the  night.  The  doctor  had  only  just  been  examining  him 
very  seriously.  I  learned  afterwards  that  the  doctor  (the  same 
young  man  with  whom  I  had  quarrelled  had  been  treating 
Makar  Ivanovitch  ever  since  he  arrived)  had  been  very  attentive 
io  the  patient  and  had  diagnosed  a  complication  of  various 
diseases  in  him — but  I  don't  know  their  medical  terms. 
Makar  Ivanovitch,  as  I  observed  from  the  first  glance,  was 
on  the  warmest,  friendliest  terras  with  him  ;  I  disliked  that  at 
that  instant ;  but  I  was  of  course  in  a  very  bad  mood  at  the 
moment. 

"  Yes,  Alexandr  Semyonovitch,  how  is  our  dear  invalid  to- 
day," inquired  Versilov.  If  I  had  not  been  so  agitated,  it  would 
have  been  most  interesting  to  me  to  watch  Versilov's  attitude 
to  this  old  man  ;  I  had  wondered  about  it  the  day  before. 
What  struck  me  most  of  all  now  was  the  extremely  soft  and 
pleasant  expression  in  Versilov's  face,  there  was  something 
perfectly  sincere  in  it.  I  have  noted  aheady,  I  believe,  that 
Versilov's  face  became  wonderfully  beautiful  as  soon  as  it 
became  ever  so  little  kindly. 

"  Wh}',  we  keep  quarrelling,"  answered  the  doctor. 

364 


"  With  Макаг  Ivanovitch  ?  I  don't  believe  it ;  it's  impossible 
to  quarrel  with  him." 

"  But  he  won't  obey  ;  he  doesn't  sleep  at  night.  .  .  ." 

"  Come  give  over,  Alexandr  Semyonovitch,  that's  enough 
scolding,"  said  Makar  Ivanovitch  laughing.  "  Well,  Andrey 
Petrovitch,  how  have  they  treated  our  good  lady  ?  Here 
she's  been  sighing  and  moaning  all  the  morning,  she's  worrying," 
he  added,  indicating  mother. 

"  Ach,  Andrey  Petrovitch,"  cried  my  mother,  who  was  really 
very  uneasy;  "do  make  haste  and  tell  us,  don't  keep  us  in 
suspense  ;  how  has  it  been  settled  for  her,  poor  thing  ?  " 

"  They  have  found  her  guilty  and  sentenced  her  !  " 

"  Ach  ! "  cried  my  mother. 

"  But  not  to  Siberia,  don't  distress  yourself — to  a  fine  of 
fifteen  roubles,  that's  all  ;  it  was  a  farce  !  " 

He  sat  down,  the  doctor  sat  down  too ;  they  were  talking  of 
Tatyana  Pavlovna  ;  I  knew  nothing  yet  of  what  had  happened. 
I  sat  down  on  Makar  Ivanovitch's  left,  and  Liza  sat  opposite  me 
on  the  right ;  she  evidently  had  some  special  sorrow  of  her 
own  to-day,  with  which  she  had  come  to  my  mother  ;  there  was 
a  look  of  uneasiness  and  irritation  in  her  face.  At  that  moment 
we  exchanged  glances,  and  I  thought  to  myself,  "we  are  both 
disgraced,  and  I  must  make  the  first  advances."  My  heart  was 
suddenly  softened  to  her.  Versilov  meanwhile  had  begun 
describing  what  had  happened  that  morning. 

It  seemed  that  Tatyana  Pavlovna  had  had  to  appear  before 
the  justice  of  the  peace  that  morning,  on  a  charge  brought  against 
her  by  her  cook.  The  whole  affair  was  utterly  absurd  ;  I  have 
mentioned  already  that  the  ill-tempered  cook  would  sometimes, 
when  she  was  sulky,  refuse  to  speak,  and  would  not  say  a  word 
to  her  mistress  for  a  whole  week  at  a  time.  I  mentioned,  too, 
Tatyana's  weakness  in  regard  to  her,  how  she  put  up  with  any- 
thing from  her  and  absolutely  refused  to  get  rid  of  her.  All 
these  whimsical  caprices  of  old  maiden  ladies  are,  in  my  eyes, 
utterly  beneath  contempt  and  so  undeserving  of  attention.  And 
I  only  mention  this  story  here  because  this  cook  is  destined  to 
play  a  leading  and  momentous  part  in  the  sequel  of  my  story. 

So  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  driven  out  of  all  patience  by  the 
obstinate  Finnish  woman,  who  had  refused  to  answer  a  word 
for  several  days,  had  suddenly  at  last  struck  her,  a  thing  she 
had  never  done  before.  Even  then  the  cook  did  not  utter  the 
slightest  sound,  but  the  same  day  she  communicated  the  fact 

365 


to  a  discharged  midshipman  called  Osyetrov,  who  earned  a 
precarious  existence  by  undertaking  cases  of  various  sorts  and  of 
course,  by  getting  up  such  cases  as  this  for  the  courts.  It  had 
ended  in  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  being  summoned  before  the  justice 
of  the  peace,  "and  when  the  case  was  tried  Versilov  had  for  some 
reason  appeared  as  a  witness. 

Versilov  described  all  this  with  extraordinary  gaiety  and 
humour,  so  that  even  mother  laughed ;  he  even  mimicked 
Tatyana  Pavlovna  and  the  midshipman  and  the  cook.  The 
cook  had  from  the  very  beginning  announced  to  the  court  that 
she  wanted  a  money  fine,  "  For  if  they  put  my  mistress  in  prison, 
whom  am  I  going  to  cook  f or  ?  "  In  answer  to  the  j  udge,  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  answered  with  immense  condescension,  not  even 
deigning  to  defend  herself ;  on  the  contrary,  she  had  concluded 
with  the  words,  "  I  did  beat  her  and  I  shall  do  it  again,"  where- 
upon she  was  promptly  fined  three  roubles  for  her  impudent 
answer.  The  midshipman,  a  lean  lanky  young  man,  would 
have  begim  with  a  long  speech  in  defence  of  his  client, 
but  broke  down  disgracefully  to  the  amusement  of  the  whole 
court. 

The  hearing  was  soon  over,  and  Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  con- 
demned to  pay  fifteen  roubles  to  the  injured  Marya. 

Tatyana  Pavlovna  promptly  drew  out  her  purse,  and  pro- 
ceeded on  the  spot  to  pay  the  money,  whereupon  the  midship- 
man at  once  approached  her,  and  was  putting  out  his  hand  to 
take  it,  but  Tatyana  Pavlovna  thrust  aside  his  hand,  almost 
with  a  blow,  and  turned  to  Marya.  "  Don't  you  trouble 
madam,  you  needn't  put  yourself  out,  put  it  down  in  our  accounts, 
I'll  settle  with  this  fellow."  "See,  Marya,  what  a  lanky  fellow 
you've  picked  out  for  yourself,"  said  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  pointing 
to  the  midshipman,  hugely  delighted  that  Marya  had  spoken  to 
her  at  last. 

"  He  is  a  lanky  one  to  be  sure,"  Marya  answered  slily.  "  Did 
you  order  cutlets  with  peas  1  I  did  not  hear  this  morning,  I 
was  in  a  hurry  to  get  here."  "  Oh  no,  with  cabbage,  Marya,  and 
please  don't  burn  it  to  a  cinder,  as  you  did  yesterday."  "  No, 
I'll  do  my  best  to-day,  madam,  let  me  have  your  hand,"  and 
she  kissed  her  mistress's  hand  in  token  of  reconciliation  ;  she 
entertained  the  whole  court  in  fact. 

"Ah,  what  a  woman ! "  said  mother,  shaking  her  head,  very 
much  pleased  with  the  news  and  Andrey  Petrovitch's  accoimt 
of  it,  though  she  looked  imeasily  on  the  sly  at  Liza. 

366 


"  She  has  been  a  self-willed  lady  from  her  childhood,"  smiled 
Мака  г  Ivanovitch. 

"  Spleen  and  idleness,"  opined  the  doctor. 

"  Is  it  I  am  self-willed  ?  Is  it  I  am  spleen  and  idleness  ?  " 
asked  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  coming  in  upon  us  suddenly,  evidently 
very  well  pleased  with  herself.  "  It's  not  for  you  to  talk 
nonsense,  Alexandr  Semyonovitch  ;  when  you  were  ten  years 
old,  you  knew  whether  I  was  idle,  and  you've  been  treating 
yourself  for  spleen  for  the  last  year  and  have  not  been  able  to 
cure  yourself,  so  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  ;' well,  you've  picked 
me  to  pieces  enough  ;  thanks  for  troubling  to  come  to  the  court, 
Andrey  Petrovitch.  Well,  how  are  you,  Makarushka  ;  it's  only 
you  I've  come  to  see,  not  this  fellow,"  she  pointed  to  me,  but  at 
once  gave  me  a  friendly  pat  on  the  shoulder ;  I  had  never 
before  feeen  her  in  such  a  good  humour.  "  Well,  how  is  he  ?" 
turning  suddenly  to  the  doctor  and  frowning  anxiously. 

"  Why,  he  won't  lie  in  bed,  and  he  only  tires  himself  out  sitting 
up  like  this." 

"  Why,  I  only  sit  up  like  this  a  little,  with  company,"  Makar 
Ivanovitch  murmured  with  a  face  of  entreaty,  like  a  child's. 

"  Yes,  we  like  this,  we  like  this  ;  we  like  a  little  gossip  when 
our  friends  gather  roimd  us  ;  I  know  Makarushka,"  said  Tatyana 
Pavlovna. 

"  Yes  you're  a  quick  one,  you  are  1  And  there's  no  getting 
over  you  ;  wait  a  bit,  let  me  speak  :  I'll  lie  down,  darling,  I'll 
obey,  but  you  know,  to  my  thinking,  '  If  you  take  to  yoxu:  bed, 
you  may  never  get  up,'  that's  what  I've  got  at  the  back  of  my 
head,  friend." 

"  To  be  sure  I  knew  that  was  it,  peasant  superstitions  :  *  If  I 
take  to  my  bed,'  they  say,  '  ten  to  one  I  shan't  get  up,'  that's 
what  the  peasants  very  often  fear,  and  they  would  rather  keep 
on  their  legs  when  they're  ill  than  go  to  a  hospital.  As  for  you, 
Makar  Ivanovitch,  you're  simply  home-sick  for  freedom,  and 
the  open  road — that's  all  that's  the  matter  with  you,  you've 
got  out  of  the  habit  of  staying  long  in  one  place.  Why,  you're 
what's  called  a  pilgrim,  aren't  you  ?  And  tramping  is  almost  a 
passion  in  our  peasantry.  I've  noticed  it  more  than  once  in 
them,  our  peasants  are  tramps  before  everything." 

"  Then  Makar  is  a  tramp  according  to  you  ?  '*  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  caught  him  up. 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  mean  that,  I  used  the  word  in  a  general  sense. 
Well  yes,  a  religious  tramp,  though  he  is  a  holy  man,  yet  he  is  a 

367 


tramp.  In  a  good  respectful  sense,  but  a  tramp  ....  I  speak 
from  the  medical  point  of  view.  .  .  ." 

"  I  assure  you,"  I  addressed  the  doctor  suddenly  :  "  that 
you  and  I  and  all  the  rest  here  are  more  like  tramps  than  this 
old  man  from  whom  you  and  I  ought  to  learn,  too,  because  he 
has  a  firm  footing  in  life,  while  we  all  of  us  have  no  firm  stand- 
point at  all.  .  .  .  But  how  should  you  understand  that, 
though  !  " 

I  spoke  very  cuttingly,  it  seemed,  but  I  had  come  in  feeling 
upset.  I  don't  know  why  I  went  on  sitting  there,  and  felt  as 
though  I  were  beside  myself. 

'^'  What  are  you  saying  ?  "  said  Tat5'^ana  Pavlovna,  looking 
at  me  suspiciously.  "  How  did  you  find  him,  Makar  Ivano- 
vitch  ?  "  she  asked,  pointing  her  finger  at  me. 

"  God  bless  him,  he's  a  sharp  one,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a 
serious  air,  but  at  the  words  "  sharp  one  "  almost  everyone 
laughed.  I  controlled  myself  somehow  ;  the  doctor  laughed 
more  than  anyone.  It  was  rather 'unlucky  that  I  did  not  know 
at  the  time  of  a  previous  compact  between  them.  Versilov, 
the  doctor,  and  Tatyana  Pavlovna  had  agreed  three  days  before 
to  do  all  they  could  to  distract  mother  from  brooding  and  appre- 
hension on  account  of  Makar  Ivanovitch,  whose  illness  was  far 
more  dangerous  and  hopeless  than  I  had  any  suspicion  of  then. 
That's  why  they  were  all  making  jokes,  and  trying  to  laugh. 
Only  the  doctor  was  stupid,  and  did  not  know  how  to  make 
jokes  naturally  :  that  was  the  cause  of  all  that  followed.  If  I 
had  known  of  their  agreement  at  that  time,  I  should  not  have 
done  what  I  did.     Liza  knew  nothing  either. 

I  sat  listening  with  half  my  mind  ;  they  talked  and  laughed 
and  all  the  time  my  head  was  full  of  Darya  Onisimovna,  and  her 
news,  and  I  could  not  shake  off  the  thought  of  her  ;  I  kept 
picturing  how  she  had  sat  and  looked,  and  had  cautiously  got 
up,  and  peeped  into  the  next  room.  At  last  they  all  suddenly 
laughed.  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  I  don't  in  the  least  know  why, 
called  the  doctor  an  infidel :  "  Why,  all  you  doctors  are  infidels !  " 

"  Makar  Ivanovitch  !  "  said  the  doctor,  very  stupidly  pretend- 
ing to  be  offended  and  to  be  appealing  to  him  as  an  umpire, 
"  am  I  an  infidel  ?  " 

"  You  an  infidel  ?  No  you  are  not  an  infidel,"  the  old  man 
answered  sedately,  looking  at  him  instantly.  "No,  thank 
God  !  "  he  said,  shaking  his  head  :  "  you  are  a  merry-hearted 
man." 

368 


"  And  if  a  man's  merry -hearted,  he's  not  an  infidel  ?  "  the 
doctor  observed  ironically. 

"  That's  in  its  own  way  an  idea,"  observed  Versilov ;  he  was 
not  laughing,  however. 

"  It's  a  great  idea,"  I  could  not  help  exclaiming,  struck  by 
the  thought. 
The  doctor  looked  round  inquiringly. 

"  These  learned  people,  these  same  professors "  (probably 
they  had  been  talking  about  professors  just  before),  began 
Makar  Ivanovitch,  looking  down  :  "at  the  beginning,  ough,  I 
was  frightened  of  them.  I  was  in  terror  in  their  presence,  for  I 
dreaded  an  infidel  more  than  anything.  I  have  only  one  soul, 
I  used  to  think  ;  what  if  I  lose  it,  I  shan't  be  able  to  find  another ; 
but,  afterwards,  I  plucked  up  heart.  '  After  all,'  I  thought, 
'  they  are  not  gods  but  just  the  same  as  we  are,  men  of  like 
passions  with  ourselves.'  And  my  curiosity  was  great.  '  I  shall 
find  out,'  I  thought,  '  what  this  infidelity  is  like.'  But  after- 
wards even  that  curiosity  passed  over." 

He  paused,  though  he  meant  to  go  on,  still  with  the  same 
gentle  sedate  smile.  There  are  simple  souls  who  put  complete 
trust  in  every  one,  and  have  no  suspicion  of  mockery.  Such 
people  are  always  of  limited  intelligence,  for  they  are  ahvays 
ready  to  display  all  that  is  precious  in  their  hearts  to  every 
newcomer.  But  in  Makar  Ivanovitch  I  fancied  there  was 
something  else,  and  the  impulse  that  led  him  to  speak  was 
different,  and  not  only  the  innocence  of  simplicity  :  one  caught 
glimpses  as  it  were  of  the  missionary  in  him.  I  even  caught, 
with  pleasure,  some  sly  glances  he  bent  upon  the  doctor,  and 
even  perhaps  on  Versilov.  The  conversation  was  evidently  a 
continuation  of  a  previous  discussion  between  them  the  week 
before,  but  unluckily  the  fatal  phrase  which  had  so  electrified 
me  the  day  before  cropped  up  in  it  again,  and  led  me  to  an  out- 
burst which  I  regret  to  this  day. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  the  unbeliever,  even  now  perhaps,"  the  old 
man  went  on  with  concentrated  intensity ;  "  only,  friend 
Alexandr  Semyonovitch,  I  tell  you  what,  I've  never  met  an 
infidel,  but  I  have  met  worldly  men  ;  that's  what  one  must  call 
them.  They  are  of  all  sorts,  big  and  little,  ignorant  and  learned, 
and  even  some  of  the  humblest  class,  but  it's  all  vanity.  They 
read  and  argue  all  their  lives,  filling  themselves  with  the  sweet- 
ness of  books,  while  they  remain  in  perplexity  and  can  come  to 
no  conclusion.     Some   quite  let  themselves  go,   and   give    up 

369 


taking  notice  of  themselves.  Some  grow  harder  than  a  stone 
and  their  hearts  are  full  of  wandering  dreams  ;  others  become 
heartless  and  ^ivolous,  and  all  they  can  do  is  to  mock  and  jeer. 
Another  will,  out  of  books,  gather  some  flowers,  and  those 
according  to  his  own  fancy  ;  but  he  still  is  full  of  vanity,  and 
there  is  no  decision  in  him.  And  then  again  :  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  dreariness.  The  small  man  is  in  want,  he  has  no  bread 
and  naught  to  keep  his  babes  alive  with,  he  sleeps  on  rough 
straw,  and  all  the  time  his  heart  is  light  and  merry  ;  he  is  coarse 
and  sinful,  yet  his  heart  is  light.  But  the  great  man  drinks  too 
much,  and  eats  too  much,  and  sits  on  a  pile  of  gold,  yet  there  is 
nothing  in  his  heart  but  gloom.  Some  have  been  through  all 
the  sciences,  and  are  still  depressed,  and  I  fancy  that  the  more 
intellect  a  man  has,  the  greater  his  dreariness.  And  then  again  : 
they  have  been  teaching  ever  since  the  world  began,  and  to  what 
good  purpose  have  they  taught,  that  the  world  might  be  fairer 
and  merrier,  and  the  abode  of  every  sort  of  joy  ?  And  another 
thing  I  must  tell  you  :  they  have  no  seemliness,  they  don't 
even  want  it  at  all ;  all  are  ruined,  but  they  boast  of  their  own 
destruction  ;  but  to  return  to  the  one  Truth,  they  never  think  ; 
and  to  live  without  God  is  naught  but  torment.  And  it  seems 
that  we  curse  that  whereby  we  are  enlightened  and  knaw  it  not 
ourselves  :  and  what's  the  sense  of  it  ?  It's  impossible  to  be  a 
man  and  not  bow  down  to  something  ;  such  a  man  could  not 
bear  the  burden  of  himself,  nor  could  there  be  such  a  man.  If 
he  rejects  God,  then  he  bows  down  to  an  idol — fashioned  of 
wood,  or  of  gold,  or  of  thought.  They  are  all  idolaters  and  not 
infidels,  that  is  how  we  ought  to  describe  them — ^though  we 
can't  say  there  are  no  infidels.  There  are  men  who  are  down- 
right infidels,  only  they  are  far  more  terrible  than  those  others, 
for  they  come  with  God's  name  on  their  lips.  I  have  heard  of 
them  more  than  once,  but  I  have  not  met  them  at  all.  There 
are  such,  friend,  and  I  fancy,  too,  that  there  are  bound  to  be." 

"  There  are,  Makar  Ivanovitch,"  Versilov  agreed  suddenly : 
"  there  are  such,  '  and  there  are  bound  to  be.'  " 

"  There  certainly  are,  and  '  there  are  certainly  bound  to  be,'  " 
I  burst  out  hotly,  and  impulsively,  I  don't  know  why  ;  but  I^vas 
carried  away  by  Versilov's  tone,  and  fascinated  by  a  sort  of  idea 
Ь  the  words  •'  there  are  bound  to  be."  The  conversation  was 
ai4  absolute  siu-prise  to  me.  But  at  that  minute  something 
httpp<»ned  also  quite  unexpected. 


370 


It  was  a  very  bright  day ;  by  the  doctor's  orders  Makar 
Ivanovitch's  blind  was  as  a  rule  not  drawn  up  all  day  ;  but 
there  was  a  curtain  over  the  window  now,  instead  of  the  blind, 
so  that  the  upper  part  of  the  window  was  not  covered  ;  this  was 
because  the  old  man  was  miserable  at  not  seeing  the  sun  at  all 
when  he  had  the  blind,  and  as  we  were  sitting  there  the  sun's 
rays  fell  suddenly  full  upon  Makar  Ivanovitch's  face.  At  first, 
absorbed  in  conversation,  he  took  no  notice  of  it,  but  mechani- 
cally as  he  talked  he  several  times  turned  his  head  on  one  side, 
because  the  bright  sunlight  hurt  and  irritated  his  bad  ej^es. 
Mother,  standing  beside  him,  glanced  several  times  uneasily 
towards  the  window  ;  all  that  was  wanted  was  to  screen  the 
window  completely  with  something,  but  to  avoid  interrupting 
the  conversation  she  thought  it  better  to  try  and  move  the 
bench  on  which  Makar  Ivanovitch  Was  sitting  a  little  to  the 
right.  It  did  not  need  to  be  moved  more  than  six  or  at  the 
most  eight  inches.  She  had  bent  down  several  times  and  taken 
hold  of  the  bench,  but  could  not  move  it ;  the  bench  with  Makar 
Ivanovitch  sitting  on  it  would  not  move.  Feeling  her  efforts 
unconsciously,  in  the  heat  of  conversation,  Makar  Ivanovitch 
several  times  tried  to  get  up,  but  his  legs  would  not  obey  him. 
But  mother  went  on  straining  all  her  strength  to  move  it,  and 
at  last  all  this  exasperated  Liza  horribly.  I  noticed  several 
angry  irritated  looks  from  her,  but  for  the  first  moment  I  did 
not  know  to  what  to  ascribe  them,  besides  I  was  carried  awaj' 
by  the  conversation.  And  I  suddenly  heard  her  almost  shout 
sharply  to  Makar  Ivanovitch  : 

"  Do  get  up,  if  it's  ever  so  Uttle :  you  see  how  hard  it  is  for 
mother." 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  quickly,  instantly  grasped  her 
meaning,  and  hurriedly  tried  to  stand  up,  but  without  success  ; 
he  raised  himself  a  couple  of  inches  and  fell  back  on  the  bench. 

"  I  can't,  my  dearie,"  he  answered  plaintively,  looking,  as  it 
were,  meekly  at  Liza. 

"  You  can  talk  by  the  hour  together,  but  you  haven't  the 
strength  to  stir  an  inch  !  " 

"  Liza  !  "  cried  Tatynna  Pavlovna.  Makar  Ivanovitch  made 
another  great  effort, 

371 


"  Take  your  crutches,  they  are  lying  beside  you  ;  you  can  get 
up  with  your  crutches  !  "  Liza  snapped  out  again. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  old  man,  and  he  made  haste  to  pick 
up  his  crutches. 

"  He  must  be  lifted  !  "  said  Versilov,  standing  up  ;  the  doctor, 
too,  moved,  and  Tatyana  Pavlovna  ran  up,  but  before  they  had 
time  to  reach  him  Makar  Ivanovitch,  leaning  on  the  crutches, 
with  a  tremendous  effort,  suddenly  raised  himself  and  stood  up, 
looking  round  with  a  triumphant  air. 

"  There,  I  have  got  up  !  "  he  said  almost  with  pride,  laugh- 
ing gleefully  ;  "  thank  you,  my  dear,  you  have  taught  me  a 
lesson,  and  I  thought  that  my  poor  legs  would  not  obey  me  at 
all.  ..." 

But  he  did  not  remain  standing  long ;  he  had  hardly  finished 
speaking,  when  his  crutch,  on  which  he  was  leaning  with  the 
whole  weight  of  his  body,  somehow  slipped  on  the  rug,  and  as 
his  "  poor  legs  "  were  scarcely  any  support  at  all,  he  fell  heavily 
full  length  on  the  floor.  I  remember  it  was  almost  horrible  to 
see.  All  cried  out,  and  rushed  to  lift  him  up,  but,  thank  God,  he 
had  broken  no  bones  ;  he  had  only  knocked  his  knees  with  a 
heavy  thud  against  the  floor,  but  he  had  succeeded  in  putting 
out  his  right  hand  and  breaking  his  fall  with  it.  He  was  picked 
up  and  seated  on  the  bed.  He  was  very  pale,  not  from  fright, 
but  from  the  shock.  (The  doctor  had  told  them  that  he  was 
suffering  more  from  disease  of  the  heart  than  anything.) 
Mother  was  beside  herself  with  fright,  and  still  pale,  trembling 
all  over  and  still  a  little  bewildered,  Makar  Ivanovitch  turned 
suddenly  to  Liza,  and  almost  tenderly,  in  a  soft  voice,  said  to 
her  : 

"  No,  my  dearie,  my  legs  really  won't  hold  me  !  " 

I  cannot  express  what  an  impression  this  made  on  me,  at  the 
time.  There  was  not  the  faintest  note  of  complaint  or  reproach 
in  the  poor  old  man's  words  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  perfectly 
evident  that  he  had  not  noticed  an5rthing  spiteful  in  Liza's 
words,  and  had  accepted  her  shout  as  something  quite  befitting, 
that  is,  that  it  was  quite  right  to  pitch  into  him  for  his  remissness. 
Ail  this  had  a  very  great  effect  on  Liza  too.  At  the  moment 
when  he  fell  she  had  rushed  forward,  like  all  the  rest  of  us,  and 
stood  numb  with  horror,  and  miserable,  of  course,  at  having 
caused  it  all ;  hearing  his  words,  she  almost  instantly  flushed 
crimson  with  shame  and  remorse. 

"  That's  enough  !  "  Tatvana  Pavlovna  commanded  suddenly  : 

372 


"  this  comes  of  talking  too  much  !  It's  time  we  were  off  ;  it's 
a  bad  look-out  when  the  doctor  himself  begins  to  chatter  !  " 

"  Quite  so,"  assented  Alexandr  Semyonovitch  who  was 
occupied  with  the  invalid.  "  I'm  to  blame,  Tatyana  Pavlovna  ; 
he  needs  rest." 

But  Tatyana  Paklovna  did  not  hear  him  :  she  had  been  for 
half  a  minute  watching  Liza  intently. 

"  Come  here,  Liza,  and  kiss  me,  that  is  if  you  care  to  kiss  an 
old  fool  like  me,"  she  said  unexpectcdlj'. 

And  she  kissed  the  girl,  I  don't  know  why,  but  it  seemed 
exactly  the  right  thing  to  do  ;  so  that  I  almost  rushed  to  kiss 
Tatyana  Pavlovna  myself.  What  was  fitting  was.  not  to  over- 
whelm Liza  with  reproach,  but  to  welcome  with  joy  and  con- 
gratulation the  new  feeling  that  must  certainly  have  sprung  up 
in  her.  But  instead  of  all  those  feelings,  I  suddenly  stood  up 
and  rapped  out  resolutely  : 

"  Makar  Ivanovitch,  you  used  again  the  word  '  secmliness,' 
and  I  have  been  worrying  about  that  word  yesterda}^  and  all 
these  days  ...  in  fact,  all  my  life  I  have  been  worrying  about 
it,  only  I  didn't  know  what  it  was.  This  coincidence  I  look 
upon  as  momentous,  almost  miraculous.  ...  I  say  this  in  your 
presence  ..." 

But  I  was  instantly  checked.  I  repeat  I  did  not  know  their 
compact  about  mother  and  Makar  Ivanovitch  ;  they  considered 
me,  of  course  judging  from  my  doings  in  the  past,  capable  of 
making  a  scene  of  any  sort. 

"  Stop  him,  stop  him  !  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  utterly 
infuriated.  Mother  began  trembling.  Makar  Ivanovitch,  seeing 
the  general  alarm,  was  alarmed  too. 

"  Arkady,  hush  !  "  Versilov  cried  sternly. 

"  For  me,  my  friends,"  I  said  raising  my  voice  :  "  to  see  you 
all  beside  this  babe  (I  indicated  Makar)  is  unseemly  ;  there  is 
only  one  saint  here — and  that  is  mother,  and  even  she  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  alarming  him,"  the  doctor  said  emphatically. 

"  I  know  I  am  the  enemy  to  everyone  in  the  world  "  (or  some- 
thing of  the  sort),  I  began  faltering,  but  looking  round  once  more, 
I  glared  defiantly  at  Versilov. 

"  Arkady,"  he  cried  again,  "  just  such  a  scene  has  happened 
once  here  already  between  us.  I  entreat  you,  restrain  yourself 
now  ! " 

I  cannot  describe  the  intense  feeling  with  which  he  said  this, 
A  deep  sadness,  sincere  and  complete,  was  manifest  in  his  face. 

373 


What  was  most  surprising  was  that  he  looked  as  though  he 
were  guilty  ;  аз  though  I  were  the  judge,  and  he  were  the 
criminal.     This  was  the  last  straw  for  me. 

"  Yes,"  I  shouted  to  him  in  reply  :  "  just  such  a  scene  we  had 
before,  when  I  buried  Versilov,  and  tore  him  out  of  my  heart 
.  .  .  but  then  there  followed  a  resurrection  from  the  dead  .  .  . 
but  now  .  .  .  now  there  will  be  no  rising  again  !  But  .  .  .  but 
all  of  you  here  shall  see  what  I  am  capable  of  :  you  have  no 
idea  what  I  can  show  you  !  " 

Saying  this,  I  rushed  into  my  room.  Versilov  ran  after 
me. 


I  had  a  relapse  ;  I  had  a  violent  attack  of  fever,  and  by  night- 
fall was  delirious.  But  I  was  not  all  the  time  in  delirium  ;  I 
had  itmumerable  dreams,  shapeless  and  following  one  another, 
in  endless  succession.  One  such  dream  or  fragment  of  a  dream 
I. shall  remember  as  long  as  I  live.  I  will  describe  it  without 
attempting  to  explain  it ;  it  was  prophetic  and  1  cannot  leave  it 
out. 

I  suddenly  found  myself  with  my  heart  full  of  a  grand  and 
proud  design,  in  a  large  lofty  room ;  I  remember  the  room  very  well, 
it  was  not  at  Tatyana  Pavlovna's,  I  may  observe,  anticipating 
events.  But  although  I  was  alone,  I  felt  continually  with  un- 
easiness and  discomfort  that  I  was  not  alone  at  all,  that  I  was 
awaited,  and  that  something  was  being  expected  of  me.  Some- 
where outside  the  door  people  were  sitting  and  waiting  for 
what  I  was  going  to  do.  The  sensation  was  unendurable  "  Oh, 
if  I  could  only  be  alone  !  "  And  suddenly  she  walked  in.  She 
looked  at  me  timidly,  she  was  very  much  afraid,  she  looked  into 
my  eyes.  In  my  hand  I  had  the.  letter.  She  smiled  to  fascinate 
me,  she  fawned  upon  me  ;  I  was  sorry,  but  I  began  to  feel 
repulsion.  Suddenly  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  I  flung  the 
letter  on  the  table  with  unutterable  disdain,  as  much  as  to  say, 
'  You  needn't  beg,  take  it,  I  want  nothing  of  you  !  I  revenge 
myself  for  all  your  insults  by  contempt."  I  went  out  of  the  room, 
choking  with  immense  pride.  But  at  the  door  Lambert 
clutched  me  in  the  darkness  !  "  Fool,  fool !  "  he  whispered, 
holding  me  by  the  arm  with  all  his  might,  "  she  will  have  to 
open  a  high-class  boarding-house  for  wenches  in  Vassilyevsky 
Island."     (N.B. — to  get  her  living,  if  her  father,  hearing  of  the 

374 


letter  from  me,  were  to  deprive  her  of  her  inheritance,  and 
drive  her  out  of  the  house.  I  quote  what  Lambert  said,  word 
for  word,as  I  dreamed  it.) 

**  Arkady  Makarovitch  is  in  quest  of  seemliness,'  "  I  heard 
the  low  voice  of  Anna  Andreyevna,  some\vhere  close  by  on  the 
stairs  ;  but  there  was  a  note,  not  of  approval,  but  of  insufferable 
mockery  in  her  words.  I  returned  to  the  room  with  Lambert. 
But,  seeing  Lambert,  sTie  began  to  laugh.  My  first  impression 
was  one  of  horrible  dismay,  such  dismay  that  I  stopped  short 
and  would  not  go  up  to  her.  I  stared  at  her,  and  could  not 
beheve  my  eyes,  as  though  she  had  just  thrown  off  a  mask  :  the 
features  were  the  same,  but  each  feature  seemed  distorted  by  an 
insolence  that  was  beyond  all  bounds.  "  The  ransom,  the 
ransom,  madam  !  "  cried  Lambert,  and  both  laughed  louder  than 
ever,  while  my  heart  went  cold.  "  Oh,  can  that  shameless  creature 
be  the  woman  one  glance  from  whom  set  my  heart  glowing  with 
virtue  !  " 

"  You  see  what  these  proud  creatures  in  their  good  society 
are  ready  to  do  for  money  !  "  cried  Lambert.  But  the  shameless 
creature  was  not  even  abashed  by  that  ;  she  laughed  at  my 
being  so  horrified.  Oh,  she  was  ready  to  pay  the  ransom,  that 
I  saw,  and  .  .  .  and  what  came  over  me  ?  I  no  longer  felt 
pity  or  disgust ;  I  was  thrilled  as  I  had  never  been  before.  .  .  . 
I  was  overwhelmed  by  a  new  and  indescribable  feeling,  such  as 
I  had  never  known  before,  and  strong  as  life  itself.  ...  I  could 
not  have  gone  away  now  for  anything  on  earth  !  Oh,  how  it 
pleased  me  that  it  was  so  shameful  !  I  clutched  her  hands  ;  the 
touch  of  her  hands  sent  an  agonizing  thrill  through  me,  and  I 
put  my  lips  to  her  insolent  crimson  lips,  that  invited  me,  quiver- 
ing with  laughter. 

Oh,  away  with  that  vile  memory  ?  Accursed  dream  !  I 
swear  that  until  that  loathsome  dream  nothing  like  that  shameful 
idea  had  ever  been  in  my  mind.  There  had  never  been  even  an 
unconscious  dream  of  the  sort  (though  I  had  kept  the  "  letter  " 
sewn  up  in  my  pocket,  and  I  sometimes  gripped  my  pocket  with 
a  strange  smile).  How  was  it  all  this  came  to  me  so  complete  ? 
[t  was  because  I  had  the  soul  of  a  spider  !  It  shows  that  all 
this  had  long  ago  been  hatching  in  my  corrupt  heart,  and  lay 
latent  in  my  desires,  but  my  waking  heart  was  still  ashamed,  and 
my  mind  dared  not  consciously  picture  anything  of  the  sort. 
But  in  sleep  the  soul  presented  and  laid  bare  all  that  was  hidden 
in  the  heart,  with  the  utmost  accuracy,  in  a  complete  picture  and 

375 


in  prophetic  form.  And  was  that  what  I  had  threatened  to 
show  them,  when  I  had  run  out  of  Makar  Ivanovitch's  room  that 
morning  ?  But  enough  :  for  the  time  no  more  of  this !  That 
dream  is  one  of  the  strangest  things  that  has  happened  in  my 
Ufe. 


CHAPTER  III 


Three  days  later  I  got  up  from  my  bed,  and  as  soon  as  I  was  on 
my  legs  I  felt  that  I  should  not  go  back  to  it  again,  I  felt  all 
over  that  convalescence  was  at  hand.  All  these  little  details 
perhaps  would  not  be  worth  writing,  but  then  several  days 
followed  which  were  not  remarkable  for  anything  special  that 
happened,  and  yet  have  remained  in  my  memory  as  something 
soothing  and  consolatory,  and  that  is  rare  in  my  reminiscences. 
I  will  not  for  the  time  attempt  to  define  my  spiritual  condition  ; 
if  I  were  to  give  an  account  of  it  the  reader  would  scarcely 
believe  in  it.  It  will  be  better  for  it  to  be  made  clear  by  facts 
themselves.  And  so  I  will  only  say  one  thing  :  let  the  reader 
remember  the  soul  of  the  spider  ;  and  that  in  the  man  who 
longed  to  get  away  from  them  all,  and  from  the  whole  world 
for  the  sake  of  "  seemliness  !  "  The  longing  for  "  seemliness  " 
was  still  there,  of  course,  and  very  intense,  but  how  it  could  be 
linked  with  other  longings  of  a  very  different  sort  is  a  mystery 
to  me.  It  always  has  been  a  mystery,  and  I  have  marvelled  a 
thousand  times  at  that  faculty  in  man  (and  in  the  Russian,  I 
believe,  more  especially)  of  cherishing  in  his  soul  his  loftiest 
ideal  side  by  side  with  the  most  abject  baseness,  and  all  quite 
sincerely.  Whether  this  is  breadth  in  the  Russian  which  takes 
him  so  far  or  simply  baseness — that  is  the  question  ! 

But  enough  of  that.  However  that  may  be,  a  time  of  calm 
followed.  All  I  knew  was  that  I  must  get  well  at  all  costs  and 
as  quickly  as  possible  that  I  might  as  soon  as  possible  begin  to 
act,  and  so  I  resolved  to  live  hygienically  and  to  obey  the  doctor 
(whoever  he  might  be),  disturbing  projects  I  put  off  with  great 
good  sense  (the  fruit  of  this  same  breadth)  to  the  day  of  my 
escape,  that  is,  to  the  day  of  my  complete  recovery.  How  all 
the  peaceful  impressions  and  sensations  in  that  time  of  stillness 
were  consistent  with  the  painfully  sweet  and  agitated  throbbings 
of  my  heart  when  I  dreamed  of  violent  decisions  I  do  not  know, 


but  again  I  put  it  all  down  to  "  breadth."  But  there  was  no 
trace  now  of  the  restlessness  I  had  suffered  from  of  late.  I  put 
it  all  off  for  the  time,  and  did  not  tremble  at  the  thought  of  the 
future  as  I  had  so  recently,  but  looked  forward  to  it,  like  a  wealthy 
man  relying  on  his  power  and  his  resources.  I  felt  more  and 
more  proud  and  defiant  of  the  fate  awaiting  me,  and  this  was 
parti}'  due,  I  imagine,  to  my  actual  return  to  health,  and  the 
rapid  recovery  of  my  vital  forces.  Those  few  days  of  final  and 
complete  recovery  I  recall  even  now  with  great  pleasiu-e. 

Oh,  they  forgave  me  everything,  that  is  my  outburst,  and 
these  were  the  people  whom  I  had  called  "  unseemly  "  to  their 
faxies  1  That  I  love  in  people  ;  that  is  what  I  call  intelligence 
of  the  heart ;  anyway,  this  attracted  me  at  once,  to  a  certain 
degree,  of  course.  Versilov  and  I,  for  instance,  talked  together 
like  the  best  of  friends,  but  only  to  a  certain  point :  if  at  times 
we  became  ever  so  little  too  expansive  (and  we  were  over- 
expansive  at  times)  we  pulled  ouiselves  up  at  once  as  though  a 
trifle  ashamed  of  something.  There  are  cases  when  the  victor 
cannot  help  feeling  abashed  before  the  vanquished,  and  just 
because  he  has  gained  the  upper  hand  over  him.  I  was  evidently 
the  victor  :  and  I  was  ashamed. 

That  morning,  that  is  the  one  on  which  I  got  up  again  after 
my  relapse,  he  came  in  to  see  me,  and  then  I  learned  from  him 
for  the  first  time  of  their  compact  in  regard  to  mother  and 
Makar  Ivanovitch.  He  added  that  though  the  old  man  was 
better,  the  doctor  would  not  answer  for  the  future.  I  promised 
him  with  my  whole  heart  that  I  would  be  more  careful  of  my 
behaviour  in  the  future.  While  Versilov  was  telling  me  all-thiii 
I  detected  for  the  first  time  that  he  was  most  genuinely  con- 
cerned about  the  old  man,  far  more,  indeed,  than  I  could  have 
expected  from  a  man  like  him  :  and  that  he  looked  upon  him 
as  a  being  for  some  reason  particularly  precious  to  himself,  not 
simply  for  mother's  sake.  This  at  once  interested  me  and 
almost  surprised  me,  and  I  must  confess  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Versilov  I  should  have  overlooked  and  failed  to  appreciate  a 
great  deal  in  this  old  таъ,  who  has  left  one  of  the  most  lasting 
and  original  impressions  on  my  mind. 

Versilov  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  my  attitude  to  Makar  Ivano- 
vitch, that  is  he  distrusted  my  intelligence  and  my  tact,  and  he 
was  therefore  particularly  pleased  afterwards  when  he  discerned 
that  I  knew  how  to  behave  with  a  man  of  quite  different  ideas 
and  conceptions,  could,  in  fact,  be  broad-minded  and  make 

377 


allowances.  I  must  confess,  too  (and  I  don't  think  it's  humiliat- 
ing to  do  so),  that  in  this  man  of  the  people  I  foimd  something 
absolutely  new  to  me  in  regard  to  certain  feelings  and  concep- 
tions, something  I  had  known  nothing  of,  something  far  more 
serene  and  consolatory  than  my  own  previous  ideas  on  those 
subjects.  It  was  none  the  less  impossible  sometimes  to  keep 
from  being  impatient  at  some  positive  superstitions  in  which  he 
believed  with  the  most  revolting  placidity  and  steadfastness. 
But  this,  of  course,  was  only  due  to  his  lack  of  education ;  his 
soul  was  rather  happily  constructed,  so  much  so  that  I  have 
never  met  a  man  superior  in  that  respect. 


What  attracted  one  first  of  all,  as  I  have  observed  already, 
was  his  extraordinary  pure-heartedness  and  his  freedom  from 
amour-propre ;  one  felt  instinctively  that  he  had  an  almost 
sinless  heart.  He  had  "  gaiety  "  of  heart,  and  therefore  "  seemli- 
ness."  The  word  "  gaiety  "  he  was  very  fond  of  and  often  used. 
He  sometimes  showed  an  almost  abnormal  exaltation,  an  almost 
abnormal  fervour,  partly,  I  imagine,  because  the  fever  never 
really  left  him  ;  but  that  did  not  mar  his  beautiful  serenity. 
There  were  contrasts  in  him,  too  :  side  by  side  with  his  mar- 
vellous simplicity  (at  times,  to  my  vexation,  he  completely 
failed  to  detect  irony)  there  was  a  sort  of  sly  subtlety,  most 
frequently  apparent  in  controversy.  And  he  was  fond  of  contro- 
versy, though  at  times  only  through  caprice.  It  was  evident 
that  he  had  been  on  foot  over  a  great  part  of  Russia,  had  heard 
a  great  deal ;  but  I  repeat,  what  he  liked  best  of  all  was  religious 
emotion,  and  therefore  everything  that  led  up  to  it,  and  he  was 
fond  of  telling  incidents  that  moved  one  to  tenderness  and 
reverence. 

He  was  fond  of  telling  stories  in  general.  I  listened  to  many 
tales  from  him  of  his  own  wanderings  and  various  legends  of 
the  lives  of  the  "  ascetics  "  of  ancient  times.  I'm  not  familiar 
with  these  stories,  but  I  believe  that  he  told  them  all  wrong, 
adapting  them  for  the  most  part  from  the  traditions  current 
among  the  peasantry.  It  was  simply  impossible  to  accept  some 
of  his  versions.  But  together  with  evident  distortions  or  even 
inventions  there  were  continual  flashes  of  something  wonderfully 
%mplete,  full  of  peasant  feeling,  and  always  touching.  ...  I 

378 


recftU,  for  instance,  one  long  story  out  of  the  life  of  "  Marja  of 
Egypt."  Of  this  "  life  "  and  of  all  such  "  lives  "  I  had  had  no 
idea  at  all  till  then.  I  frankly  confess  that  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  hear  the  story  without  tears,  not  from  tender  feeling, 
but  from  a  sort  of  strange  ecstasy.  One  felt  something  strange 
and  burning  like  the  parched  sandy  desert  upon  which  the  holy 
woman  wandered  among  lions.  I  don't  want  to  talk  of  this 
though,  and,  indeed,  I  am  not  competent  to  do  so. 

Apart  from  the  tender  feeling  of  his  stories  I  particularly  liked 
certain  extremely  original  views  on  disputed  questions  of  modem 
life.  He  told  me  once,  for  instance,  of  something  that  had 
happened  recently  with  a  retired  soldier ;  he  had  almost  wit- 
nessed the  incident.  A  soldier  had  come  home  to  his  village 
from  serving  in  the  army  and  did  not  like  going  back  to  live 
with  peasants,  the  peasants  did  not  like  him  either.  The  man 
went  wrong,  took  to  drinking,  and  robbed  some  one.  There  was 
no  strong  evidence  against  him,  but  he  was  taken  up  and  tried. 
The  lawyer  was  defending  him  successfully — there  was  no  proof 
against  him,  but  suddenly,  after  listening  a  long  time,  the  prisoner 
suddenly  stood  up  and  interrupted  him.  "  No,  you  stop,"  said 
he,  and  then  he  told  the  whole  story  "  to  the  tiniest  grain  of 
dust "  ;  he  confessed  his  full  guilt  with  tears  and  penitence. 
The  jury  went  out,  were  shut  up  to  confer,  and  suddenly  they 
all  came  back.  "  No,  not  guUty  !  "  Every  one  shouted,  and 
rejoiced,  and  the  soldier  stood  rooted  to  the  spot ;  he  seemed 
turned  into  a  post,  and  couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  it ;  he 
didn't  understand  a  word  of  the  judge's  exhortation  to  him 
when  he  dismissed  him.  The  soldier  came  out  to  freedom  and 
still  couldn't  believe  it.  He  began  to  fret,  sank  into  brooding, 
gave  up  eating  and  drinking,  spoke  to  no  one,  and  on  the  fifth 
day  he  took  and  hanged  himself.  "  That's  what  it  is  to  live 
with  sin  on  the  soul,"  said  Makar  Ivanovitch  in  conclusion.  Of 
course  that's  a  foolish  story,  and  there  are  masses  of  such  stories 
nowadays  in  all  the  newspapers,  but  I  liked  his  tone,  and  most 
of  all  some  phrases  of  quite  a  new  significance.  Describing,  for 
instance,  how  the  soldier  was  disliked  by  the  peasants  when  ho 
went  back  to  the  village,  Makar  Ivanovitch  used  the  expression, 
"  And  we  know  what  a  soldier  is  :  a  soldier's  a  peasant  spoilt." 
Speaking  afterwards  of  the  lawyer  who  had  almost  won  the 
case,  he  said  :  "  We  know  what  a  lawyer  is  :  a  lawyer's  a 
conscience  for  hire."  Both  these  expressions  he  brought  out 
without  effort  and  almost  without  noticing  them,  and  yet  those 

379 


two  utterances  revealed  a  complete  and  special  attitude  of 
mind  on  those  subjects,  not  borrowed  but  peculiar  to  Makar 
Ivanovitch  if  not  to  the  whole  peasantry.  These  judgments 
among  the  peasants  in  regard  to  certain  subjects  are  sometimes 
really  marvellous  in  their  originality. 

"And  how  do  you  look  upon  the  sin  of  suicide,  Makar  Ivano- 
vitch ?  "  I  asked  him,  apropos  of  the  same  story. 

"  Suicide  is  the  greatest  human  sin,"  he  answered  with  a  sigh, 
"  but  God  alone  is  judge  of  it,  for  He  alone  knows  all,  every 
limit,  every  measure.  We  must  pray  without  ceasing  for  such 
sinners.  Whenever  you  hear  of  such  a  sin  pray  fervently  at 
bedtime  for  the  sinner  ;  if  only  you  breathe  a  sigh  for  him  to 
God,  even  though  you  don't  know  his  name — the  more  acceptable 
will  be  your  prayer  for  him." 

"  But  will  my  prayer  be  any  help  to  him  if  he  is  condemned 
already  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  tell  ?  There  are  many,  ah,  many  without 
faith  who  thereby  confound  those  of  little  knowledge.  Heed 
them  not,  for  they  know  not  what  foolishness  they  are  speaking. 
The  prayer  of  the  living  for  the  condemned  may  still,  in  truth, 
benetit  him.  So  what  a  plight  for  him  who  has  no  one  to  pray 
for  him.  Therefore,  at  your  evening  prayer  say  also  at  the 
end  :  '  Lord  Jesus,  have  mercy  on  all  those  also  who  have  none 
to  pray  for  them.'  Very  acceptable  and  pleasant  will  be  this 
prayer.  Also  for  all  living  sinners — '  Lord,  who  boldest  all 
destinies  in  Thy  hand,  save  all  sinners  that  repent  not ! ' — 
that,  too,  is  a  good  prayer." 

I  promised  him  I  would  pray,  feeling  that  I  was  giving  him 
immense  pleasure  by  this  promise.  And  his  face  did,  in  fact, 
beam  with  joy  ;  but  I  hasten  to  add  that  in  such  cases  he  did 
not  ta'-i-e  up  a  superior  attitude  to  me,  as  a  monk  speaking  to 
a  raw  youth  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  very  often  liked  listening  to 
me.  He  was  never  weary  in  fact  of  hearing  me  talk  on  various 
subjects,  realizing  that  though  a  "  youth  "  I  was  immeasurably 
superior  to  him  in  education.  He  was  very  fond,  for  instance, 
of  talking  of  the  life  of  hermits  in  the  desert,  and  thought  of 
the  "desert"  as  something  far  above  "pilgrimage."  I  hotly 
opposed  him,  laying  stress  on  the  egoism  of  these  people,  who 
had  abandoned  the  world  and  all  the  services  they  might  have 
rendered  mankind,  simply  with  the  egoistic  idea  of  their  own 
salvation.  At  first  he  didn't  quite  understand  ;  I  suspect, 
indeed,  he  didn't  understand  at  all,  but  he  zealously  defended 

380 


the  "  desert."  "  At  first,  of  course,  one  grieves  (that  is  when 
first  one  goes  to  dwell  in  the  desert),  but  then  each  day  one  is 
more  glad  at  heart,  and  at  last  one  looks  upon  the  face  of  God." 

Then  I  drew  a  picture  to  him  of  the  useful  activity  in  the  world 
of  the  man  of  science,  the  doctor,  or  any  friend  of  humanity, 
and  roused  him  to  real  enthusiasm,  for  I  spoke  with  warmth  ; 
he  kept  eagerly  assenting  to  my  words,  "  That's  so,  dear,  that's 
so  !     God  bless  you,  your  thoughts  are  true." 

But  when  I  had  finished  he  did  not  seem  to  agree  entirely. 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  he  sighed  deeply,  "  but  are  there 
many  who  hold  fast  and  are  not  led  astray  ?  Though  money  be 
not  their  God,  yet  it  is  a  demi-god — a  great  temptation,  and 
then  there's  the  female  sex,  and  then  doubt  and  envy.  And  so 
they  will  forget  their  great  work,  and  will  be  absorbed  in  little 
things.  But  in  the  desert  a  man  strengthens  himself  for  every 
great  deed.  My  dear,  what  is  there  in  the  world  ? "  he 
exclaimed  with  intense  feeling.  "  But  is  it  only  a  dream  ? 
Take  a  grain  of  sand  and  sow  it  on  a  stone  ;  when  thslt  yellow 
grain  of  sand  of  yours  on  the  stone  springs  up,  then  your  dream 
will  come  true  in  the  world.  That's  a  saying  of  ours.  Very 
different  from  Christ's  '  Go  and  give  all  that  thou  hast  to  the 
poor  and  become  the  servant  of  all.'  Then  thou  wilt  be  a 
thousandfold  richer  than  ever  before  ;  for  not  by  bread  alone, 
not  by  rich  garments,  not  by  pride,  not  by  envy,  wilt  thou  be 
happy,  but  by  love  multiplied  immeasurably.  Not  a  little 
riches,  not  a  hundred-thousand,  not  a  million,  but  the  whole 
world  wilt  thou  gain  !  Now  we  gather  and  have  not  enough 
and  squander  senselessly,  but  then  there  will  be  no  orphans  nor 
beggars,  for  all  will  be  my  people,  all  will  be  akin.  I  have 
gained  all,  I  have  bought  all,  every  one  !  Now  it  is  no  uncommon 
thing  for  the  rich  and  powerful  to  care  nothing  for  the  length 
of  their  days,  and  to  be  at  a  loss  to  invent  a  pastime  ;  then  thy 
days  and  thy  hours  will  be  multiplied  a  thousandfold,  for  thou 
wilt  grudge  the  loss  of  a  single  minute,  and  wilt  rejoice  in  every 
minute  in  gaiety  of  heart.  Then  thou  wilt  attain  wisdom,  not 
from  books  alone,  but  wilt  be  face  to  face  with  God  Himself  ; 
and  the  earth  will  shine  more  brightly  than  the  sun,  and  there 
shall  be  no  more  sorrow  nor  sighing,  nothing  but  one  priceless 
Paradite.  .  .  .'* 

It  was  these  enthusiastic  outbursts  that  I  believe  Versilov 
liked  particularly.     He  was  in  the  room  on  this  occasion. 

"  Makar   Ivanovitch,"    I   interrupted   suddenly,    feeling   im- 

381 


mensely  stirred  myself  (I.  remember  that  evening),  "  why,  it's 
communism,  absolute  communism,  you're  preaching  !  " 

And  as  he  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  the  doctrine  of  com- 
munism, and  heard  the  word  indeed  for  the  first  time,  I  began 
at  once  expounding  to  him  all  I  knew  on  the  subject.  I  must 
confess  my  knowledge  wais  scanty  and  confused,  even  now,  in 
fact,  it  is  not  very  ample.  But  in  spite  of  that  I  discoursed  with 
great  heat  on  what  I  did  know.  To  this  day  I  recall  with 
pleasure  the  extraordinary  impression  I  made  on  the  old  man. 
It  was  more  than  an  impression.  It  was  really  an  overwhelming 
effect.  He  was  passionately  interested,  too,  in  the  historical 
details,  asking,  "  Where  ?  How  ?  Who  arranged  it  ?  Who 
said  so  ?  "  I  have  noticed,  by  the  way,  that  that  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  Russian  peasant.  If  he  is  much  interested  he 
is  not  content  with  general  ideas,  but  insists  on  having  the 
most  solid  and  exact  facts.  It  was  just  for  such  details  that 
I  was  at  a  loss,  and  as  Versilov  was  present  I  felt  ashamed  of 
my  incompetence,  and  that  made  me  hotter  than  ever.  In  the 
end  Makar  Ivanovitch  could  do  nothing  but  repeat  with  emotion, 
"  Yes  :  yes  1  "  though  he  had  evidently  lost  the  thread  and 
did  not  understand,  I  felt  vexed,  but  Versilov  interrupted 
the  conversation  and  said  it  was  bedtime.  We  were  all  in  the 
room  and  it  was  late.  But  when  he  peeped  into  my  room  a 
few  minutes  later  I  asked  him  at  once  what  he  thought  of 
Makar  Ivanovitch,  and  what  was  his  opinion  of  him  ?  Versilov 
laughed  gaily  (but  not  at  my  mistakes  about  communism — he 
did  not  mention  them  in  fact).  I  repeat  again,  he  seemed 
absolutely  devoted  to  Makar  Ivanovitch,  and  I  often  caught  a 
very  attractive  smile  on  his  face  when  he  was  listening  to  the 
old  man.  At  the  same  time  this  smile  did  not  prevent  his 
criticising  him. 

"  Makar  Ivanovitch  is  above  all  not  a  peasant  but  a  house- 
serf,"  he  pronounced  with  great  readiness,  "  who  has  been  a 
servant,  bom  a  servant,  and  of  servants.  The  house-serf e  and 
servants  used  to  share  a  very  great  deal  in  the  interests  of  their 
masters'  private,  spiritual,  and  intellectual  life  in  the  past. 
Note  that  to  this  day  Makar  Ivanovitch  is  most  interested  in 
the  life  of  the  gentry  and  upper  class.  You  don't  know  yet 
how  much  interest  he  takes  in  recent  events  in  Russia.  Do  you 
know  that  he  is  a  great  politician  ?  Don't  feed  him  on  honey, 
but  tell  him  where  anyone  is  fighting  and  whether  we  are  going 
to  fight.     In  old  days  I  used  to  delight  him  by  such  accounts. 

382 


He  has  Ihe  greatest  respect  for  science,  and  of  all  sciences  is 
fondest  of  astronomy.  At  the  same  time  he  has  worked  out  for 
himself  something  so  independent  that  nothing  you  could  do 
would  shake  it.  He  has  convictions,  firm,  fairly  clear  .  .  .  and 
genuine.  Though  he's  so  absolutely  uneducated  he  is  often 
able  to  astound  one  by  his  surprising  knowledge  of  certain  ideas 
which  one  would  never  have  expected  to  find  in  him.  He 
extols  the  '  desert '  with  enthusiasm,  but  nothing  would  induce 
him  to  retire  to  the  desert  or  enter  a  monastery,  because  he  is 
above  all  things  a  '  tramp,'  as  he  was  so  charmingly  called  by 
Alexandr  Semyonovitch  (and  by  the  way  there's  no  need  for 
you  to  be  angry  with  him).  Well;  and  what  more  ?  He's  some- 
thing of  an  artist,  many  of  his  sayings  are  his  own,  though  some 
are  not.  He's  somewhat  halting  in  his  logic,  and  at  times  too 
abstract ;  he  has  moode  of  sentimentality,  but  of  a  thoroughly 
peasant  kind,  or  rather  moods  of  that  tenderness  universally 
found  among  peasants,  which  the  people  introduce  so  freely  into 
their  religious  feelings.  As  for  his  purity  of  heart  and  freedom 
from  malice,  I  won't  discuss  them ;  it's  not  for  you  and  me  to 
begin  upon  that.  .  .  ,'* 


To  complete  my  jicture  of  Makar  Ivanovitch  I'll  repeat  some 
of  his  stories,  choosing  those  taken  from  private  life.  These  stories 
were  of  a  strange  character.  It  was  impossible  to  extract  any 
sort  of  moral  or  general  tendency  from  them,  except  perhaps 
that  they  were  all  more  or  less  touching.  There  were  some, 
however,  which  were  not  touching,  some,  in  fact,  were  quite 
gay,  others  even  made  fim  of  certain  foolish  monks,  so  that  he 
actually  discredited  his  own  convictions  by  telling  them.  I 
pointed  this  out  to  him,  but  he  did  not  understand  what  I  meant. 
Sometimes  it  was  difficult  to  imagine  what  induced  him  to  tell 
the  story,  so  that  at  times  I  wondered  at  his  talkativeness  and 
put  it  down  to  the  loquacity  of  old  age  and  his  feverish  condition. 

"  He  is  not  what  he  used  to  be,"  Versilov  whispered  to  me 
once,  "  he  was  not  qviite  like  this  in  the  old  days.  He  will  soon 
die,  much  sooner  than  we  expect,  and  we  must  be  prepared." 

I  have  forgotten  to  say  that  we  had  begun  to  have  something 
like  "evenings."  Besides  my  mother,  who  never  left  him, 
Versilov  was  in  his  Uttle  room  every  evening  ;  I  came  too — and 
indeed  I  had  nowhere  else  to  go.     Of  late  Liza,  too,  had  always 

383 


been  present,  though  she  came  a  little  later  than  the  rest  of  us, 
and  always  sat  in  silence.  Tatyana  Pavlovna  came  too,  and, 
though  more  rarely,  the  doctor.  Somehow  I  suddenly  began  to 
get  on  with  the  doctor,  and  though  we  were  never  very  friendly 
there  were  no  further  scenes  between  us.  I  liked  a  sort  of 
simple-mindedness  which  I  detected  in  him,  and  the  attachment 
he  showed  to  our  family,  so  that  I  made  up  my  mind  at  last  to 
forgive  him  his  professional  superciliousness,  and,  moreover,  I 
taught  him  to  wash  his  hands  and  clean  his  nails,  even  if  he 
couldn't  put  on  clean  linen.  I  explained  to  him  bluntly  that 
this  was  not  a  sign  of  foppishness  or  of  elegant  artificiality,  but 
that  cleanliness  is  a  natural  element  of  the  trade  of  a  doctor, 
and  I  proved  it  to  him.  Finally,  Lukerya  often  came  out  of 
the  kitchen  and  stood  at  the  door  listening  to  Makar  Ivanovitch's 
stories.  Versilov  once  called  her  in  from  the  door,  and  asked 
her  to  sit  down  with  us.  I  liked  his  doing  this,  but  from  that 
time  she  gave  up  coming  to  the  door.  Her  sense  of  the  fitting  ! 
I  quote  one  of  his  stories,  selecting  it  simply  because  I  remem- 
ber it  more  completely.  It  is  a  story  about  a  merchant,  and 
I  imagine  that  such  incidents  occur  by  thousands  in  our  cities 
and  country  towns,  if  only  one  knew  how  to  look  for  them.  The 
reader  may  prefer  to  skip  the  story,  especially  as  I  quote  it  in 
the  old  man's  words. 


I'll  tell  you  now  of  a  wonderful  thing  that  happened  in  our 
town,  Afimyevsk.  There  was  a  merchant  living  there,  his  name 
was.Skotoboynikov,  Maxim  Ivanovitch,  and  there  was  no  one 
richer  than  he  in  all  the  coimtryside.  He  built  a  cotton  factory, 
and  he  kept  some  hundreds  of  hands,  and  he  exalted  himself 
exceedingly.  And  everything,  one  may  say,  was  at  his  beck  and 
call,  and  even  those  in  authority  hindered  him  in  nothing,  and 
the  archimandrite  thanked  him  for  his  zeal :  he  gave  freely  of 
his  substance  to  the  monastery,  and  when  the  fit  came  upon 
him  he  sighed  and  groaned  over  his  soul  and  was  troubled  not 
a  Uttle  over  the  life  to  come.  A  widower  he  was  and  childless  ; 
of  his  wife  there  were  tales  that  he  had  beaten  her  from  the 
first  year  of  their  marriage,  and  that  from  his  youth  up  he  had 
been  apt  to  be  too  free  with  his  hands.  Only  all  that  had 
happened  long  ago  ;  he  had  no  desire  to  enter  into  the  bonds  of 
another  marriage.     He  had  a  weakness  for  strong  drink,  too, 

384 


and  when  the  time  came  he  would  nm  drunk  about  the  town, 
naked  and  shouting  ;  the  town  was  of  little  account  and  was 
full  of  iniquity.  And  when  the  time  was  ended  he  was  moved 
to  anger,  and  all  that  he  thought  fit  was  good,  and  all  he  bade 
them  do  was  right.  He  paid  his  people  according  to  his  pleasure, 
he  brings  out  his  reckoning  beads,  puts  on  his  spectacles  :  "  How 
much  for  you,  Foma  ?  "  "  I've  had  nothing  since  Christmas, 
Maxim  Ivanovitch  ;  thirty-nine  roubles  is  my  due."  "  Ough  ! 
what  a  sum  of  money  !  That's  too  much  for  you  !  It's  more 
than  you're  worth  altogether  ;  it  would  not  be  fitting  for  you ; 
ten  roubles  off  the  beads  and  you  take  twenty-nine."  And  the 
man  says  nothing  no  one  dares  open  his  lips  ;  all  are  dumb 
before  him. 

"  I  know  how  much  I  ought  to  give  him,"  he  says.  "  It's 
the  only  way  to  deal  with  the  folk  here.  The  folk  here  are 
corrupt.  But  for  me  they  would  have  perished  of  hunger,  all 
that  are  here.  The  folk  here  are  thieves  again.  They  covet 
all  that  they  behold,  there  is  no  courage  in  them.  They  are 
drimkards  too  ;  if  you  pay  a  man  his  meney  he'll  take  it  to  the 
tavern  and  will  sit  in  the  tavern  till  he's  naked — not  a  thread 
on  him,  he  will  come  out  as  bare  as  your  hand..  They  are  mean 
^^Tetches.  A  man  wiU  sit  on  a  stone  facing  the  tavern  and 
begin  wailing  :  '  Oh  mother,  my  dear  mother,  why  did  you 
bring  me  into  the  world  a  hopeless  drunkard  ?  Better  you  had 
strangled  me  at  birth,  a  hopeless  drunkard  like  me  !  '  Can  you 
call  that  a  man  1  That's  a  beast,  not  a  man.  One  must  first 
teach  him  better,  and  then  give  him  money.  I  know  when  to 
give  it  him." 

That's  how  Maxim  Ivanovitch  used  to  talk  of  the  folk  of 
Afimyevsk.  Though  he  spoke  evil  of  them,  yet  it  was  the 
truth.    The  folk  were  froward  and  unstable. 

There  lived  in  the  same  town  another  merchant,  and  he  died. 
He  was  a  yoimg  man  and  light-minded.  He  came  to  ruin  and 
lost  all  his  fortune.  For  the  last  year  he  struggled  like  a  fish 
on  the  sand,  and  his  life  drew  near  its  end.  He  was  on  bad 
terms  with  Maxim  Ivanovitch  all  the  time,  and  was  heavily  in 
debt  to  him.  And  he  left  behind  a  widow,  still  young,  and 
five  children.  And  for  a  young  widow  to  be  left  alone  without 
a  husband,  like  a  swallow  without  a  refuge,  is  a  great  ordeal,  to  say 
nothing  of  five  little  children,  and  nothing  to  give  them  to  eat. 
.Their  last  possession,  a  wooden  house,  Maxim  Ivanovitch  had 
taken  for  a  debt.    She  set  them  all  in  a  row  at  the  church  porch, 

385 


the  eldest  a  boy  of  seven,  and  the  others  all  girls,  one  smaller 
than  another,  the  biggest  of  them  four,  and  the  youngest  babe 
at  the  breast.  When  Mass  was  over  Maxim  Ivanovitch  came 
out  of  church,  and  all  the  little  ones,  all  in  a  row,  knelt  down 
before  him — she  had  told  them  to  do  this  beforehand — and  they 
clasped  their  little  hands  before  them,  and  she  behind  them,  with 
the  fifth  child  in  her  arms,  bowed  down  to  the  earth  before  him 
in  the  sight  of  all  the  congregation  :  "  Maxim  Ivanovitch,  have 
mercy  on  the  orphans  !  Do  not  take  away  their  last  crust  1 
Do  not  drive  them  out  of  their  home  !  "  And  all  who  were 
present  were  moved  to  tears,  so  well  had  she  taught  them.  She 
thought  that  he  would  be  proud  before  the  people  and  would 
forgive  the  debt,  and  give  back  the  house  to  the  orphans.  But 
it  did  not  fall  out  so.  Maxim  Ivanovitch  stood  still.  "  You're 
a  young  widow,"  said  he,  "  you  want  a  husband,  you  are  not 
weeping  over  your  orphans.  Your  husband  cursed  me  on  his 
deathbed."  And  he  passed  by  and  did  not  give  up  the  house. 
"  Why  follow  their  foolishness  (that  is,  connive  at  it)  ?  If  I 
show  her  benevolence  they'll  abuse  me  more  than  ever.  All  that 
nonsense  will  be  revived  and  the  slander  will  only  be  confirmed." 

For  there  was  a  story  that  ten  years  before  he  had  sent  to 
that  widow  before  she  wa^  married,  and  had  offered  her  a 
great  sum  of  money  (she  was  very  beautiful),  forgetting  that 
that  sin  is  no  less  than  defiling  the  temple  of  God.  But  he  did 
not  succeed  then  in  his  evil  design.  Of  such  abominations  he 
had  committed  not  a  few,  both  in  the  town  and  ali  over  the 
province,  and  indeed  had  gone  beyond  all  bounds  in  such  doings. 

The  mother  wailed  with  her  nurselings.  He  turned  the 
orphans  out  of  the  house,  and  not  from  spite  only,  for,  indeed,  a 
man  sometimes  does  not  know  himself  what  drives  him  to  carry 
out  his  will.  Well,  people  helped  her  at  first  and  then  she  went 
out  to  work  for  hire.  But  there  was  little  to  be  earned,  save  at 
the  factory  ;  she  scrubs  floors,  weeds  in  the  garden,  heats  the 
bath-house,  and  she  carries  the  babe  in  her  arms,  and  the  other 
four  run  about  the  streets  in  their  little  shirts.  When  she  made 
them  kneel  down  at  the  church  porch  they  still  had  little  shoes, 
and  little  jackets  of  a  sort,  for  they  were  merchant's  children  : 
but  now  they  began  to  run  barefoot.  A  child  soon  gets  through 
its  little  clothes  we  know.  Well,  the  children  didn't  care  :  so 
long  as  there  was  sunshine  they  rejoiced,  like  birds,  did  not  feel 
their  ruin,  and  their  voices  were  like  little  bells.  The  widow 
thought  "  the  winter  will  come  and  what  shall  I  do  with  you 

386 


then  ?  If  God  would  only  take  you  to  Him  before  then  !  " 
But  she  had  not  to  wait  for  the  winter.  About  our  parts  the 
children  have  a  cough,  the  whooping-cough,  which  goes  from 
one  to  the  other.  First  of  all  the  baby  died,  and  after  her  the 
others  fell  ill,  and  all  four  little  girls  she  buried  that  autumn 
one  after  the  other  ;  one  of  them,  it's  true,  was  trampled  by  the 
horses  in  the  street.  And  what  do  you  think  ?  She  buried 
them  and  she  wailed.  Though  she  had  cursed  them,  yet  when 
Grod  took  them  she  was  sorry.     A  mother's  heart ! 

All  she  had  left  was  the  eldest,  the  boy,  and  she  hung  over 
him  trembling.  He  was  weak  and  tender,  with  a  pretty  Uttle 
face  like  a  girl's,  and  she  took  him  to  the  factory  to  the  foreman 
who  was  his  godfather,  and  she  herself  took  a  place  as  nurse. 

But  one  day  the  boy  was  running  in  the  yard,  and  Maxim 
Ivanovitch  suddenly  drove  up  with  a  pair  of  horses,  and  he  had 
just  been  drinking  ;  and  the  boy  came  rushing  down  the  steps 
straight  at  him,  and  slipped  and  stumbled  right  against  him  as 
he  was  getting  out  of  the  droshky,  and  hit  him  with  both  hands 
in  the  stomach.  He  seized  the  boy. by  the  hair  and  yelled, 
"  Whose  boy  is  it  ?  A  birch  !  Thrash  hira  before  me,  this 
minute."  The  boy  was  half-dead  with  fright.  They  began 
thrashing  him  ;  he  screamed.  "  So  you  scream,  too,  do  you  ? 
Thrash  him  till  he  leaves  off  screaming."  Whether  they  thrashed 
him  hard  or  not,  he  didn't  give  up  screaming  till  he  fainted 
altogether.  Then  they  left  off  thrashing  him,  they  were 
frightened.  The  boy  lay  senseless,  hardly  breathing.  They  did 
say  afterwards  they  had  not  beaten  him  much,  but  the  boy 
was  terrified.  Maxim  Ivanovitch  was  frightened !  "  Wbose 
boy  is  he  ?  "  he  asked.  When  they  told  him,  "  Upon  my  word 
Take  him  to  his  mother.  Why  is  he  hanging  about  the  factory 
here  ? "  For  two  days  afterwards  he  said  nothing.  Then  he 
asked  again  :  "  How's  the  boy  ?  "  And  it  had  gone  hard  with 
the  boy.  He  had  fallen  ill,  and  lay  in  the  comer  at  his  mother's, 
and  she  had  given  up  her  job  to  look  after  him,  and  inflammation 
of  the  lungs  had  set  in. 

"  Upon  my  word  !  "  said  Maxim  Ivanovitch,  "  and  for  so  little. 
It's  not  as  though  he  were  badly  beaten.  They  only  gave  him 
a  bit  of  a  fright.  I've  given  all  the  others  just  as  sound  a 
thrashing  and  never  had  this  nonsense."  He  expected  the 
mother  to  come  and  complain,  and  in  his  pride  he  said  nothing 
As  though  that  were  likely  !  The  mother  didn't  dare  to  com- 
plain.    And  then  he  sent  her  fifteen  roubles  from  himself,  and 

387 


a  doctor  ;  and  not  because  he  was  afraid,  but  because  he  thought 
better  of  it.  And  then  soon  his  time  came  and  he  drank,  for 
three  weeks. 

Winter  passed,  and  at  the  Holy  Ascension  of  Our  Lord, 
Maxim  Ivanovitch  asks  again  :  "  And  how's  that  same  boy  ?  " 
And  all  the  winter  he'd  been  silent  and  not  asked.  And  they 
told  him,  "  He's  better  and  living  with  his  mother,  and  she  goes 
out  by  the  day."  And  Maxim  Ivanovitch  went  that  day  to 
the  widow.  He  didn't  go  into  the  house,  but  called  her  out  to 
the  gate  while  he  sat  in  his  droshky.  "  See  now,  honest  widow," 
says  he.  "  I  want  to  be  a  real  benefactor  to  your  son,  and  to 
show  him  the  utmost  favour.  I  will  take  him  from  here  into 
my  house.  And  if  the  boy  pleases  me  I'll  settle  a  decent  fortune 
on  him  ;  and  if  I'm  completely  satisfied  with  him  I  may  at  my 
death  make  him  the  heir  of  my  whole  property  as  though  he 
were  my  own  son,  on  condition,  however,  that  you  do  not  come 
to  the  house  except  on  great  holidays.  If  this  suits  you,  bring 
the  boy  to-morrow  morning,  he  can't  always  be  playing  knuckle- 
bones." And  saying  this,  he  drove  away,  leaving  the  mother 
dazed.  People  had  overheard  and  said  to  her,  "  When  the  boy 
grows  up  he'll  reproach  you  himself  for  having  deprived  him  of 
such  good  fortune."  In  the  night  she  cried  over  him,  but  in  the 
morning  she  took  the  child.  And  the  lad  was  more  dead  than  alive. 

Maxim  Ivanovitch  dressed  him  like  a  little  gentleman,  and 
hired  a  teacher  for  him,  and  sat  him  at  his  book  from  that  hour 
forward  ;  and  it  came  to  his  never  leaving  him  out  of  hie  sight, 
always  keeping  him  with  him.  The  boy  could  scarcely  begin  to 
yawn  before  he'd  shout  at  him,  "  Mind  your  book  !  Study ! 
I  want  to  make  a  man  of  you."  And  the  boy  was  frail ;  ever 
since  the  time  of  that  beating  he'd  had  a  cough.  "  As  though 
we  didn't  live  well  in  my  house  !  "  said  Maxim  Ivanovitch, 
wondering ;  "  at  his  mother's  he  used  to  run  barefoot  and  gnaw 
crusts  ;  why  is  he  more  puny  than  before  ?  "  And  the  teacher 
said,  "  Every  boy,"  sajs  he,  "  needs  to  play  about,  not  to  be 
studying  all  the  time  ;  he  needs  exercise,"  and  he  explained  it 
aU  to  him  reasonably.  Maxim  Ivanovitch  reflected.  "  That's 
true,"  he  said.  And  that  teacher's  name  was  Pyotr  Stepano- 
vitch ;  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  be  his !  He  was  almost  like  a 
crazy  saint,  he  drank  much,  too  much  indeed,  and  that  was  the 
reason  he  had  been  turned  out  of  so  many  places,  and  he  lived 
in  the  town  on  alms  one  may  say,  but  he  was  of  great  intelligence 
and  strong  in  science.     "  This  is  not  the  place  for  me,"  ho 

388 


thought  to  himself,  "  I  ought  to  be  a  professor  in  the  university  ; 
here  I'm  buried  in  the  mud,  my  very  garments  loathe  me." 
Maxim  Ivanovitch  sits  and  shouts  to  the  child,  "  Play  !  "  and 
he  scarcely  dares  to  breathe  before  him.  And  it  came  to  such 
a  pass  that  the  boy  could  not  hear  the  sound  of  his  voice  without 
trembling  all  over.  And  Maxim  Ivanovitch  wondered  more  and 
more.  "  He's  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other ;  I  picked  him 
out  of  the  mud,  I  dressed  him  in  drap  de  dames  with  little  boots 
of  good  material,  he  has  embroidered  shirts  like  a  general's  son, 
why  has  he  not  grown  attached  to  me  ?  Why  is  he  as  dumb  as 
a  httle  wolf  ? "  And  though  people  had  long  given  up  being 
surprised  at  Maxim  Ivanovitch,  they  began  to  be  surprised  at 
him  again — the  man  was  beside  himself  :  he  pestered  the  httle 
child  and  would  never  let  him  alone.  "  As  sure  as  I'm  alive 
I'll  root  up  his  character.  His  father  cursed  me  on  his  deathbed 
after  he'd  taken  the  last  sacrament.  It's  his  father's  character." 
And  yet  he  didn't  once  use  the  birch  to  him  (after  that  time  he 
was  afraid  to).  He  frightened  him,  that's  what  he  did.  He 
frightened  him  without  a  birch. 

And  something  happened.  One  day,  as  soon  as  he'd  gone 
out,  the  boy  left  his  book  and  jumped  on  to  a  chair.  He  had 
thrown  his  ball  on  to  the  top  of  the  sideboard,  and  now  he  wanted 
to  get  it,  and  his  sleeve  caught  in  a  china  lamp  on  the  sideboard, 
the  lamp  fell  to  the  floor  and  was  smashed  to  pieces,  and  the 
crash  was  heard  all  over  the  house,  and  it  was  an  expensive 
thing,  made  of  Saxony  china.  And  Maxim  Ivanovitch  heard  at 
once,  though  he  was  two  rooms  away,  and  he  yelled.  The  boy 
rushed  away  in  terror.  He  ran  out  on  the  verandah,  across  the 
garden,  and  through  the  back  gate  on  to  the  river-bank.  And 
there  was  a  boulevard  running  along  the  river-bank,  there  were 
old  willows  there,  it  was  a  pleasant  place.  He  ran  down  to  the 
water,  people  saw,  and  clasped  his  hands  at  the  very  place  where 
the  feny-boat  comes  in,  but  seemed  frightened  of  the  water,  and 
stood  as  though  turned  to  stone.  And  it's  a  broad  open  space, 
the  river  is  swift  there,  and  boats  pass  by  ;  on  the  other  side 
there  are  shops,  a  square,  a  temple  of  God,  shining  with  golden 
domes.  And  just  then  Mme.  Ferzing,  the  colonel's  Avife,  came 
hurrying  down  to  the  ferry  with  her  little  daughter.  The  daughter, 
who  was  also  a  child  of  eight,  was  wearing  a  little  white  frock ; 
she  looked  at  the  boy  and  laughed,  and  she  was  сагг}  ing  a  little 
country  basket,  and  in  it  a  hedgehog.  "  Look,  mother,"  said 
she,  "  how  the  boy  is  looking  at  my  hedgehog  !  "      "No,"  said 

389 


the  lady,  "  he's  frightened  of  something.  What  are  you  afraid 
of,  pretty  boy  ?  "  (All  this  was  told  afterwards.)  "  And  what 
a  pretty  boy,"  she  said  ;  "  and  how  nicely  he's  dressed.  Whose 
boy  are  you  ?  "  she  asked.  And  he'd  never  seen  a  hedgehog 
before,  he  went  up  and  looked,  and  forgot  everything  at  once — 
such  is  childhood  !  "  What  is  it  you  have  got  there  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  It's  a  hedgehog,"  said  the  Uttle  lady,  "  we've  just  bought  it 
from  a  peasant,  he  found  it  in  the  woods."  "  What's  that," 
he  asked,  ''  what  is  a  hedgehog  ?  "  and  he  began  laughing  and 
poking  it  with  his  finger,  and  the  hedgehog  put  up  its  bristles, 
and  the  little  girl  was  delighted  with  the  boy.  "  We'll  take  it 
home  with  us  and  tame  it,"  she  said.  "  Ach,"  said  he,  "  do 
give  me  your  hedgehog !  "  And  he  asked  her  this  so  pleadingly, 
and  he'd  hardly  uttered  the  words,  when  Maxim  Ivanovitch  came 
running  down  upon  him.  "  Ah,  there  you  are  !  Hold  him  !  " 
(He  was  in  such  a  rage,  that  he'd  run  out  of  the  house  after  him, 
without  a  hat.)  Then  the  boy  remembered  everything,  he 
screamed,  and  ran  to  the  water,  pressed  his  little  fists  against  his 
breast,  looked  up  at  the  sky  (they  saw  it,  they  saw  it !)  and 
leapt  into  the  water.  Well,  people  cried  out,  and  jumped  from 
the  ferry,  tried  to  get  him  out,  but  the  current  carried  him  away. 
The  river  was  rapid,  and  when  they  got  him  out,  the  little  thing 
was  dead.  His  chest  was  weak,  he  couldn't  stand  being  in  the 
water,  his  hold  on  life  was  weak.  And  such  a  thing  had  never 
been  known  in  those  parts,  a  little  child  like  that  to  take  its  life  ! 
What  a  sin  !  And  what  could  such  a  little  soul  say  to  our  Lord 
God  in  the  world  beyond  ? 

And  Maxim  Ivanovitch  brooded  over  it  ever  after.  The  man 
became  so  changed  one  would  hardly  have  known  him.  He 
sorrowed  grievously.  He  tried  drinking,  and  drank  heavily,  but 
gave  it  up — it  was  no  help.  He  gave  up  going  to  the  factory 
too,  he  would  listen  to  no  one.  If  anyone  spoke  to  him,  he 
would  be  silent,  or  wave  his  hand.  So  he  spent  two  months, 
and  then  he  began  talking  to  himself.  He  would  walk  about 
talking  to  himself.  Vaskovo,  the  little  village  down  the  hill, 
caught  fire,  and  nine  houses  were  burnt ;  Maxim  Ivanovitch 
drove  up  to  look.  The  peasants  whose  cottages  were  burnt 
came  round  him  wailing ;  he  promised  to  help  them  and  gave 
orders,  and  then  he  called  his  steward  again  and  took  it  back. 
"There's  no  need,"  said  he,  "don't  give  them  anything,"  and 
he  never  said  why.  "  God  has  sent  me  to  be  a  scorn  unto  all 
men,"  said  he,  "  like  some  monster,  and  therefore  so  be  it. 

390 


Like  the  wind,"  said  he,  "  has  my  fame  gone  abroad."  The 
archimandrite  himself  came  to  him.  He  was  a  stem  man,  the 
head  of  the  community  of  the  monastery,  "What  are  you  doing  ?" 
he  asked  sternly. 

"  I  will  tell  you  "  And  Maxim  Ivanovitch  opened  the  Bible 
and  pointed  to  the  passage  : 

"  Whoso  shall  offend  one  of  these  little  ones,  which  believe  in 
me,  it  were  better  for  him  that  a  millstone  were  hanged  about 
his  neck  and  that  he  were  drowned  in  the  depth  of  the  sea." 
(Math,  xviii,  6.) 

"  Yes,"  said  the  archimandrite,  "  though  it  was  not  said 
directly  of  this,  yet  it  fits  it  well.  It  is  sad  when  a  man  loses  his 
measure — the  man  is  lost.     And  thou  hast  exalted  thyself." 

And  Maxim  Ivanovitch  sits  as  though  a  stupor  had  come  upon 
him.     The  archimandrite  gazed  upon  him. 

"  Listen,"  said  he,  "  and  remember.  It  is  said  :  *  the  word 
of  a  desperate  man  flies  on  the  wind.'  And  remember,  also,  that 
even  the  angels  of  God  are  not  perfect.  But  perfect  and  sinless 
is  one  only,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  Him  the  angels  serve. 
Moreover,  thou  didst  not  will  the  death  of  that  child,  but  wast 
only  without  wisdom.  But  this,"  said  he,  "  is  marvellous 
in  my  eyes.  Thou  hast  committed  many  even  worse  iniquities. 
Many  men  thou  hasc  ruined,  many  thou  hast  corrupted,  many 
thou  hast  destroyed,  no  less  than,  if  thou  hadst  slain  them. 
And  did  not  his  sisters,  all  the  four  babes,  die  almost  before  thine 
eyes  ?  Why  has  this  one  only  confounded  thee  ?  For  all  these 
in  the  past  thou  hast  not  grieved,  I  dare  say,  but  bast  even 
forgotten  to  think  of  them.  Why  art  thou  so  horror-stricken 
for  this  child  for  whom  thou  wast  not  greatly  to  blame  ?  " 

"  I  dream  at  night,"  Maxim  Ivanovitch  said. 

"  And  what  ?  " 

But  he  told  nothing  more.  He  sat  mute.  The  archimandrite 
marvelled,  but  with  that  he  went  away.  There  was  no  doing 
anything  with  him. 

And  Maxim  Ivanovitch  sent  for  the  teacher,  for  Pyotr 
Stepanovitch  ;  they  had  not  met  since  that  day. 

"  You  remember  him  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  painted  a  picture  with  oil  colours,  here  in  the  tavern," 
said  he,  "  and  took  a  copy  of  the  chief  priest's  portrait.  Could 
you  paint  me  a  picture  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  anything,  I  have  every  talent.     I  can  do  everything." 

391 


"  Paint  me  a  very  big  picture,  to  cover  the  whole  wall,  and 
paint  in  it  first  of  all  the  river,  and  the  slope,  and  the  ferry,  and 
all  the  people  who  were  there,  the  colonel's  wife,  and  her  daughter 
and  the  hedgehog.  And  paint  me  the  other  bank  too,  so  that 
one  can  see  the  church  and  the  square  and  the  shops,  and  where 
the  cabs  stand — ^paint  it  all  just  as  it  is.  And  the  boy  by  the 
ferry,  just  above  the  river,  at  that  very  place,  and  paint  him 
with  his  two  little  fists  pressed  to  his  little  breast.  Be  sure  to 
do  that.  And  open  the  heavens  above  the  church  on  the 
further  side,  and  let  all  the  angels  of  heaven  be  flying  to  meet 
him.  Can  you  do  it  or  not  ?  " 
"  I  can  do  anything." 

"  I  needn't  ask  a  dauber  like  you.  I  might  send  for  the  finest 
painter  in  Moscow,  or  even  from  London  itself,  but  you  remember 
his  face.  If  iff  not  like,  or  little  like,  I'll  only-give  you  fifty 
roubles.  But  if  it's  just  like,  I'll  give  you  two  hundred.  You 
remember  his  eyes  were  blue.  .  .  .  And  it  must  be  made  a  very, 
very  big  picture." 

It  was  prepared.     Pyotr  Stepanovitch    began   painting  and 
then  he  suddenly  went  and  said  : 
"  No,  it  can't  be  painted  like  that." 
"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  that  sin,  suicide,  is  the  greatest  of  all  sins.     And 
would  the  angels  come  to  meet  him  after  such  a  sin  ?  " 
"  But  he  was  a  babe,  he  was  not  responsible." 
"  No,  he  was  not  a  babe,  he  was  a  youth.     He  was  eight  years 
old  when  it  happened.     He  was  bound  to  render  some  account." 
Maxim  Ivanovitch  was  more  terror-stricken  than  ever. 
"  But  I  tell  you  what,  I've  thought  something,"  said  Pyotr 
Stepanovitch,   "  we  won't  open  the  heaven,  and  there's  no  need 
to  paint  the  angels,  but  I'll  let  a  beam  of  light,  one  bright  ray  of 
light,  come  down  from  heaven  as  though  to  meet  him.     It's  all 
the  same  as  long  as  there's  something." 

So  he  painted  the  ray.  I  saw  that  picture  myself  afterwards, 
and  that  very  ray  of  light,  and  the  river.  It  stretched  right 
across  the  wall,  all  blue,  and  the  sweet  boy  was  there,  both  little 
hands  pressed  to  his  breast,  and  the  little  lady,  and  the  hedge- 
hog, he  put  it  all  in.  Only  Maxim  Ivanovitch  showed  no  one 
the  picture  at  the  time,  but  locked  it  up  in  his  room,  away 
from  all  eyes  ;  and  when  the  people  trooped  from  all  over  the 
town  to  see  it,  he  bade  them  drive  every  one  away.  There  was  a 
great  talk  about  it.     PVotr  Stepanovitch  seemed  as  though  he 

392 


were  beside  himself.  "  I  can  do  anything  now,"  said  he.  "  I've 
only  to  set  up  in  St.  Petersburg  at  the  court."  He  was  a  very 
polite  man,  but  he  liked  boasting  beyond  all  measure.  And  his 
fate  overtook  him  ;  when  he  received  the  full  two  hundred 
roubles,  he  began  drinking  at  once,  and  showed  his  money  to 
every  one,  bragging  of  it,  and  he  was  murdered  at  night,  when 
he  was  drunk,  and  his  money  stolen  by  a  workman  with  whom 
he  was  drinking,  and  it  all  became  known  in  the  morning. 

And  it  all  ended  so  that  even  now  they  remember  it  every- 
where there.  Maxim  Ivanovitch  suddenly  drives  up  to  the  same 
widow.  She  lodged  at  the  edge  of  the  town  in  a  working- woman's 
hut ;  he  stood  before  her  and  bowed  down  to  the  ground.  And 
she  had  been  iU  ever  since  that  time  and  could  scarcely  move. 

"  Good  mother,"  he  wailed,  "  honest  widow,  marry  me, 
monster  as  I  am.     Let  me  live  again  !  " 

She  looks  at  him  more  dead  than  alive. 

"  I  want  us  to  have  another  boy,"  said  he.  "  And  if  he  is 
bom,  it  will  mean  that  that  boy  has  forgiven  us  both,  both  you 
and  me.     For  so  the  boy  has  bidden  me." 

She  saw  the  man  was  out  of  his  mind,  and  in  a  frenzy,  but 
she  could  not  refrain. 

"  That's  all  nonsense,"  she  answered  him,  "  and  only 
cowardice.  Through  the  same  cowardice  I  have  lost  all  my 
children.  I  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  you  before  me,  let  alone 
accepting  such  an  everlasting  torture." 

Maxim  Ivanovitch  drove  off,  but  he  did  not  give  in.  The 
whole  town  was  agog  at  such  a  marvel.  Maxim  Ivanovitch 
sent  match-makers  to  her.  He  sent  for  two  of  his  aunts, 
working  women  in  the  chief  town  of  the  province.  Aunts  thej" 
were  not,  but  kinsfolk  of  some  sort,  decent  people.  They  began 
trying  to  turn  her,  they  kept  persuading  her  and  would  not 
leave  the  cottage.  He  sent  her  merchants'  wives  of  the  town  too, 
and  the  wife  of  the  head  priest  of  the  cathedral,  and  the  wives  of 
officials  ;  she  was  besieged  by  the  whole  town,  and  she  got 
really  sick  of  it. 

"  If  my  orphans  had  been  living,"  she  said,  "  but  why  should 
I  now  ?     Am  I  to  be  guilty  of  such  a  sin  against  my  children  ?  " 

The  archmandrite,  too,  tried  to  persuade  her.  He  breathed 
into  her  ear  : 

"  You  will  make  a  new  man  of  him." 

She  was  horrified,  and  people  wondered  at  her. 

"  How  can  you  refuse  such  a  piece  of  luck  ?  ' 

393 


And  this  was  how  he  overcame  her  in  the  end. 

"  Anyway  he  was  a  suicide,"  he  said,  "  and  not  a  babe,  but  a 
youth,  and  owing  to  his  years  he  could  not  have  been  admitted 
to  the  Holy  C!ommunion,  and  so  he  must  have  been  bound  to 
give  at  least  some  account.  If  you  enter  into  matrimony  with 
me,  I'll  make  you  a  solemn  promise,  I'll  build  a  church  of  God 
to  the  eternal  memory  of  his  soul." 

She  could  not  stand  out  against  that,  and  consented.  So  they 
were  married. 

And  all  were  in  amazement.  They  lived  from  the  very  first 
day  in  great  and  unfeigned  harmony,  jealously  guarding  their 
marriage  vow,  and  like  one  soul  in  two  bodies.  She  conceived 
that  winter,  and  they  began  visiting  the  churches,  and  fearing 
the  wrath  of  God.  They  stayed  in  three  monasteries,  and 
consulted  prophecy.  He  built  the  promised  church,  and  also  a 
hospital,  and  almshouses  in  the  town.  He  founded  an  endow- 
ment for  widows  and  orphans.  And  he  remembered  all  whom 
he  had  injured,  and  desired  to  make  them  restitution  ;  he  began 
to  give  away  money  without  stint,  so  that  his  wife  and  the 
archimandrite  even  had  to  restrain  him  ;  "  for  that  is  enough," 
they  said.  Maxim  Ivanovitch  listened  to  them.  "  I  cheated 
Foma  of  his  wages  that  time,"  said  he.  So  they  paid  that  back 
to  Foma.  And  Foma  was  moved  even  to  tears.  "  As  it  is  I'm 
content  .  .  ."  says  he,  "  you've  given  me  so  much  without 
that."  It  touched  every  one's  heart  in  fact,  and  it  shows  it's  true 
what  they  say  that  a  living  man  will  be  a  good  example.  And 
the  people  are  good-hearted  there. 

His  wife  began  to  manage  the  factory  herself,  and  so  well  that 
she's  remembered  to  this  day.  He  did  not  give  up  drinking, 
but  she  looked  after  him  at  those  times,  and  began  to  nurse 
him.  His  language  became  more  decorous,  and  even  his  voice 
changed.  He  became  merciful  beyond  all  wont,  even  to  animals. 
If  he  saw  from  the  window  a  peasant  shamelessly  beating  his 
horse  on  the  head,  he  would  send  out  at  once,  and  buy  the  horse 
at  double  its  value.  And  he  received  the  gift  of  tears.  If  any 
one  talked  to  him  he  melted  into  tears.  When  her  time  had 
come,  God  answered  their  prayers  at  last,  and  sent  them  a  son, 
and  for  the  first  time  Maxim  Ivanovitch  became  glad  ;  he  gave 
alms  freely,  and  forgave  many  debts,  and  invited  the  whole 
town  to  the  christening.  And  next  day  he  was  black  as  night. 
His  wife  saw  that  something  was  wrong  with  him,  and  held  up 
to  him  the  new-born  babe. 

394 


"  The  boy  has  forgiven  us,"  she  said  ;  "  he  has  accepted  our 
prayers  and  our  tears  for  him." 

And  it  must  be  said  they  had  neither  of  them  said  one  word 
on  that  subject  for  the  whole  year,  they  had  kept  it  from  each 
other  in  their  hearts.  And  Maxim  Ivanovitch  looked  at  her, 
black  as  night.  "  Wait  a  bit,"  said  he,  "  consider,  for  a  whole 
year  he  has  not  come  to  me,  but  last  night  he  came  in  my 
dream." 

"  I  was  struck  to  the  heart  with  terror  when  I  heard  those 
strange  words,"  she  said  afterwards. 

The  boy  had  not  come  to  him  in  his  dream  for  nothing. 
Scarcely  had  Maxim  Ivanovitch  said  this,  when  something 
happened  to  the  new-bom  babe,  it  suddenly  fell  ill.  And  the 
child  was  ill  for  eight  days;  they  prayed  unceasingly  and  sent 
for  doctors,  and  sent  for  the  very  best  doctor  in  Moscow  by 
train.     The  doctor  came,  and  he  flew  into  a  rage. 

"  I'm  the  foremost  doctor,"  said  he,  "  all  Moscow  is  awaiting 
me. 

He  prescribed  a  drop,  and  hurried  away  again.  He  took 
eight  hundred  roubles.     And  the  baby  died  in  the  evening. 

And  what  after  that  ?  Maxim  Ivanovitch  settled  ail  hi;» 
property  on  his  beloved  wife,  gave  up  all  his  money  and  all 
his  papers  to  htr,  doing  it  all  in  due  form  according  to  law, 
then  he  stood  before  her  and  bowed  down  to  the  earth. 

"  Let  me  go,  my  priceless  spouse,  save  my  soul  while  it  is  still 
possible.  If  I  spend  the  time  without  profit  to  my  soul,  I  shall 
not  return.  I  have  been  hard  and  cruel,  and  laid  heavy  burdens 
upon  men,  but  I  believe  that  for  the  woes  and  wanderings  that 
lie  before  me,  God  will  not  leave  me  without  requital,  seeing 
that  to  leave  all  this  is  no  little  cross  and  no  little  woe." 

And  his  wife  heard  him  with  many  tears. 

"  You  are  all  I  have  now  upon  the  earth,  and  to  whom  am  I 
left  ?  "  said  she,  "  I  have  laid  up  affection  in  my  heart  for  you 
thLs  year." 

And  every  one  in  the  town  counselled  him  against  it  and 
besought  him  ;  and  thought  to  hold  him  back  by  force.  But 
he  would  not  listen  to  them,  and  he  went  away  in  secret  by 
night,  and  was  not  seen  again.  And  the  tale  is  that  he  perse- 
veres in  pilgrimage  and  in  patience  to  this  day,  and  visits  hie 
dear  wife  once  a  year. 


395 


CHAPTER  IV 

1 

I  AM  now  approaching  the  culminating  catastrophe  to  which 
my  whole  story  is  leading  up.  But  before  I  can  continue  I 
must  give  a  preliminary  explanation  of  things  of  which  I  knew 
nothing  at  the  time  when  I  was  taking  part  in  them,  but  which 
I  only  understood  and  fully  realized  long  afterwards,  that  is 
when  everything  was  over.  I  don't  know  how  else  to  be  clear, 
as  otherwise  I  should  have  to  write  the  whole  story  in  riddles. 
And  so  I  will  give  a  simple  and  direct  explanation,  sacrificing  so- 
called  artistic  effect,  and  presenting  it  without  any  personal 
feelings,  as  though  I  were  not  writing  it  myself,  something  after 
the  style  of  an  enlre/ilet  in  the  newspaper. 

The  fact  is  that  my  old  schoolfellow,  Lambert,  might  well, 
and  indeed  with  certainty,  be  said  to  belong  to  one  of  those  dis- 
reputable gangs  of  petty  scoundrels  who  form  associations  for 
the  sake  of  what  is  now  called  chantage,  an  offence  nowadays 
defined  and  punished  by  our  legal  code.  The  gang  to  which 
Lambert  belonged  had  been  formed  in  Moscow  and  had  already 
succeeded  in  a  good  many  enterprises  there  (it  was  to  some  ex- 
tent exposed  later  on).  I  heard  afterwards  that  they  had  in 
Moscow  an  extremely  experienced  and  clever  leader,  a  man  no 
longer  young.  They  embarked  upon  enterprises,  sonii^times 
acting  individually  and  sometimes  in  concert.  While  they 
were  responsible  for  some  filthy  and  indecent  scandals  (accounts 
of  which  have,  however,  already  been  published  in  the  news- 
papers) they  also  carried  out  some  subtle  and  elaborate  intrigues 
under  the  leadership  of  their  chief.  I  found  out  about  some  of 
them  later  on,  but  I  will  not  repeat  the  details.  I  will  only 
mention  that  it  was  their  characteristic  method  to  discover 
some  secret,  often  in  the  life  of  people  of  the  greatest  respccta 
bility  and  good  position.  Then  they  would  go  to  these  persons 
and  threaten  to  make  public  documentary  evidence  (v\hich  they 
often  did  not  possess)  and  would  demand  a  sum  of  money  as 
the  price  of  silence.  There  are  things  neither  sinful  nor  criminal 
Avhich  even  honourable  and  strong-minded  people  would  dread 
to  have  exposed.  They  worked  chiefly  upon  family  secrets. 
To  show  how  adroit  their  chief  sometimes  was  in  his  proceedings, 

396 


I  will  describe  in  three  lines  and  without  any  details  one  of  their 
exploits.  A  really  wicked  and  sinful  action  was  committed  in 
a  certain  honourable  family  ;  the  wife  of  a  well-kno"WTi  and 
highly  respected  man  entered  into  a  secret  love-affair  with  p, 
young  and  wealthy  officer.  They  scented  this  out,  and  what 
they  did  was  to  give  the  young  man  plainly  to  understand  that 
they  would  inform  the  husband.  They  hadn't  the  slightest  proof, 
and  the  young  man  knew  that  quite  well,  and  indeed  thoy  did 
not  conceal  it  from  him.  But  the  whole  ingenuity  and  the  whole 
cunning  of  their  calculations  lay  in  the  reflection  that  on  receiv- 
ing information,  even  without  proofs,  the  husband  would  take 
exactly  the  same  steps  as  though  he  had  positive  proofs.  They 
relied  upon  their  knowledge  of  the  man's  character,  and  of 
the  circumstances  of  the  family.  The  fact  was  that  one  member 
of  the  gang  was  a  young  man  belonging  to  a  very  good  set, 
and  he  had  been  able  to  collect  information  beforehand.  They 
extracted  a  considerable  sum  from  the  lover,  and  without  any 
risk  to  themselves,  because  their  victim  was  himself  eager  for 
secrecy. 

Though  Lambert  took  part  in  this  affair,  he  was  not  actually 
one  of  the  Moscow  gang  ;  acquiring  a  taste  for  the  work  he  began 
by  degrees  and  experimentally  acting  on  his  own  account.  I 
may  mention  beforehand  that  he  was  not  altogether  well  fitted 
for  it.  He  was  very  sharp  and  calculating,  but  hasty,  and  what's 
more,  simple,  or  rather  naive,  that  is  he  had  very  little  knowledge 
of  men  or  of  good  society.  I  fancy,  for  instance,  that  he  did  not 
realize  the  capacity  of  the  Moscow  chief,  and  imagined  that  the 
organization  and  conduct  of  such  projects  were  very  easy.  And 
he  imagined  that  almost  every  one  was  as  great  a  scoundrel  as 
he  was  himself,  and  if  once  he  had  conceived  that  a  certain  person 
was  afraid,  or  must  be  afraid  for  this  reason  or  for  that,  he  would 
be  as  certain  that  the  man  was  afraid  as  though  it  were  an  axio- 
matic truth.  I  don't  know  how  to  express  this  ;  I'll  explain 
the  fact  more  clearly  later,  but  in  my  opinion  he  had  rather  a 
coarse-grained  intelligence,  and  not  only  had  he  no  faith  in 
certain  good  and  generous  feelings,  but  perhaps  he  had  actually 
no  conception  of  them. 

He  had  come  to  Petersburg  because  he  had  long  conceived  of 
Petersburg  as  offering  a  wider  scope  for  his  energies,  and  because 
in  Moscow  he  had  got  into  a  scrape,  and  because  some  one  was 
looking  for  him  there  with  extremely  evil  intentions.  On  arriving 
in  Petersburg  he  at  once  got  into  touch  with  an  old  comrade, 

397 


but  he  found  the  outlook  unpromising  and  nothing  to  be  done  on 
a  large  scale.  Hih  acquaintance  had  increased,  but  nothing 
had  come  of  it,  "  They're  a  wretched  lot  here,  no  better  than 
boys,"  he  said  to  me  himself  afterwards.  And  behold,  one  fine 
morning  at  sunrise  he  found  me  half -frozen  under  a  wall,  and  at 
once  dropped  upon  the  scent  of  what  he  regarded  as  a  "  very 
rich  job." 

It  all  rested  on  my  ravings  as  I  thawed  in  his  lodgings. 
I  was  practically  delirious  then  !  But  from  my  words  it  was 
manifest  that  of  all  the  affronts  I  had  suffered  on  that  momentous 
day,  the  thing  which  most  rankled  in  my  heart,  and  was  most 
vivid  in  my  memory,  was  the  insult  I  had  received  from  Biiring 
and  from  her ;  I  should  not  otherwise  have  talked  of  nothing  else  in 
my  delirium  at  Lambert's,  but  should  have  raved  of  Zerstchikov 
for  example,  but  it  was  only  of  the  former  I  had  talked,  as  I 
learned  afterwards  from  Lambert  himself.  And  besides,  I  was 
in  a  sort  of  ecstasy,  and  looked  upon  both  Lambert  and  Alphonsine 
on  that  awful  morning  as,  so-to-say,  champions  and  deliverers. 
Afterwards,  as  I  got  better  and  lay  in  bed,  wondering  what 
Lambert  could  have  learned  from  my  ravings,  and  to  what  ex- 
tent I  had  babbled,  it  never  occurred  to  me  even  to  suspect  that 
he  could  have  found  out  so  much.  Oh,  of  course,  from  the 
gnawing  at  ray  conscience  I  suspected  even  then  that  I  had  said 
a  great  deal  I  should  not  have  said,  but,  I  repeat,  I  never  imagined 
that  it  had  gone  so  far.  I  ho^)ed,  too,  that  I  was  not  able  to 
articulate  my  words  clearly,  and  indeed  I  reckoned  upon  this, 
as  I  distinctly  remembered  it.  And  yet  it  turned  out  in  fact  that 
my  articulation  had  been  much  more  distinct  than  I  afterwards 
supposed  and  hoped.  But  the  worst  of  it  was  that  all  this  only 
came  to  light  afterwards,  and  long  afterwards,  and  that  was  a 
misfortune  for  me. 

From  my  deliriums,  my  ravings,  my  mutterings,  my  transports, 
and  so  on,  he  learned,  to  begin  with,  almost  all  the  surnames 
correctly,  and  even  some  addresses.  And,  secondly,  he  was  able 
to  get  a  fairly  correct  idea  of  the  consequence  of  the  persons  con- 
cerned (the  old  prince,  her,  Biiring,  Anna  Andreyevna,  and  even 
Versilov) ;  thirdly,  he  learned  that  I  had  been  insulted  and  was 
threatening  revenge ;  and  lastly,  and  chiefly,  that  there  was  in 
existence  a  mysterious,  hidden  document,  a  letter,  such,  that  if 
it  were  shown  to  a  half-crazy  old  prince  he  would  learn  that  his 
own  daughter  thought  him  a  lunatic  and  was  already  consulting 
lawyers  to  get  him  locked  up — and  would  either  go  quite  mad, 

398 


or  would  turn  her  out  of  the  house,  and  leave  her  out  of  his 
will,  or  would  marry  a  certain  Mile.  Versilov  whom  he  already 
wanted  to  marry,  and  was  being  prevented  from  marrying.  In 
short,  Lambert  understood  a  great  deal ;  no  doubt  a  great  deal 
still  remained  obscure,  but  the  expert  blackmailer  had  anyway 
dropped  on  a  trustworthy  scent.  When  I  ran  away  after- 
wards from  Alphonsine  he  promptly  found  out  my  address  (in  the 
simplest  possible  way,  by  going  to  the  address  bureau) ;  and 
then  immediately  made  the  necessary  inquiries,  from  which 
he  discovered  that  all  these  persons  about  whom  I  had  babbled 
to  him  did  actually  exist.  Then  he  promptly  took  the  first 
step. 

The  most  important  fact  was  the  existence  of  the  document, 
and  that  I  was  in  po.ssession  of  it,  and  that  that  document  was 
of  the  highest  value — of  that  Lambert  had  no  doubt.  Here  I 
omit  one  circumstance,  which  will  come  in  better  later,  in  its 
proper  place,  and  will  only  mention  here  that  that  circumstance 
was  what  principally  confirmed  Lambert  in  the  conviction  of 
the  real  existence  and,  still  more,  of  the  value  of  the  document. 
It  was,  I  may  say  beforehand,  a  momentous  circumstance,  of 
which  I  could  have  no  conception  either  at  the  time  or  afterwards. 
until  the  final  catastrophe,  when  everything  was  discovered  and 
became  evident  of  itself.  And  so,  convinced  of  the  main  facts, 
his  first  step  was  to  go  to  Anna  Andreyevna. 

Yet  one  thing  perplexes  me  to  this  day  :  how  he,  Lambert, 
succeeded  in  gaining  admittance  to,  and  fastening  himself  upon, 
such  an  unapproachable  and  superior  personage  as  Anna  Andrey- 
evna. It  is  true  that  he  gathered  information  about  her,  but 
what  of  that  ?  It  is  true  that  he  was  extremely  well  dressed, 
spoke  French  with  a  Parisian  accent,  and  had  a  French  surname, 
but  surely  Anna  Andreyevna  must  have  discerned  that  he  was  a 
scoundrel  at  once  ?  Or  is  one  to  suppose  that  a  scoundrel  was 
just  what  she  wanted  at  that  time  ?  But  surely  that  cannot  be 
so  ? 

I  never  could  find  out  the  details  of  their  interview,  but  I 
have  often  pictured  the  scene  to  myself  in  ray  imagination. 
What  is  most  likely  is  that  from  the  first  word  Lambert  posed  as 
a  friend  of  ray  childhood,  anxious  over  a  dear  and  cherished 
comrade.  But  no  doubt  at  that  first  interview  he  succeeded  in 
hinting  quite  clearly  that  I  had  a  document,  and  letting  her  know 
that  it  was  a  secret,  and  that  only  he,  Lambert,  was  in  possession 
of  it,  and  that  I  was  intending  to  revenge  myself  on  Mme. 

399 


Ahmakov  by  means  of  it,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  Above  all  he  could 
explain  to  her  as  precisely  as  possible  the  importance  and  value 
of  this  document.  As  for  Anna  Andreyevna  she  was  in  such  a 
position  that  she  must  have  caught  at  any  information  of  this 
kind,  must  have  listened  with  the  closest  attention,  and  .  .  . 
must  have  risen  to  the  bait  through  "  the  struggle  for  existence." 
Just  at  that  time  they  had  abstracted  her  fianc6  from  her,  and 
had  cd,rried  him  off  under  guardianship  to  Tsarskoe  ;  and  they 
had  even  put  her  under  supervision,  too.  And  then  a  find  like 
this  !  This  was  not  a  case  of  some  old  woman  whispering  in  her 
ear,  6f  tearful  lamentations,  of  scheming  and  backbiting,  there 
was  a  letter,  an  actual  piece  of  ^\Titing,  that  is  a  positive  proof 
of  the  treacherous  design  of  his  daughter,  and  of  all  those  who 
had  snatched  him  from  her,  and  that,  therefore,  he  must  be 
saved  even  by  flight,  to  her,  to  Anna  Andreyevna,  and  must  be 
married  to  her  in  twenty-four  hours,  otherwise  he  would  be  at 
once  spirited  away  into  a  lunatic  asylum. 

And  perhaps  the  fact  that  Lambert  attempted  no  subterfuges 
with  the  young  lady  even  for  a  moment,  but  practically  blurted 
straight  out  from  the  first  word  : 

"  Mademoiselle,  either  remain  an  old  maid  or  become  a  princess 
and  a  millionaire.  There  is  a  document  and  I  will  steal  it  from 
the  lad  and  give  it  to  you  .  .  .  for  a  note  of  hand  from  you  for 
thirty  thousand." 

I  positively  imagine  that  that's  just  how  it  was.  Oh,  he 
thought  they  were  all  as  scoundrelly  as  himself  ;  I  repeat  he 
had  that  sort  of  simplicity,  that  sort  of  innocence  of  the  scoundrel 
.  .  .  However  it  happened,  it  may  very  well  be  that  even  when 
she  was  demeaning  herself  like  this,  Anna  Andreyevna  was  not 
embarrassed  for  a  minute,  but  could  perfectly  well  control  her- 
self and  listen  to  the  blackmailer  talking  in  his  own  style — and 
all  from  "  the  breadth  of  her  nature."  Oh,  no  doubt  she  flushed 
a  little  at  first,  and  then  she  mastered  herself  and  listened.  And 
when  I  imagine  that  proud,  unapproachable,  genuinely  dignified 
girl,  with  her  brains,  too,  hand  in  hand  with  Lambert,  well  .  .  . 
what  a  mind  I  A  Russian  mind,  so  large,  with  such  a  desire  for 
breadth,  a  woman's  too,  and  in  such  circumstances  I 

Now  I'll  make  a  r«^sume.  By  the  time  I  went  out  after  my 
illness,  Lambert  had  two  plans  (I  know  that  for  a  fact  now). 
The  first  was  to  get  an  lOU  for  not  less  than  thirty  thousand 
from  Anna  Andreyevna  for  the  letter,  and  then  to  help  her  to 
frighten  the  prince,  to  abduct  him  and  to  get  her  married  to  him 

400 


at  once — something  of  that  sort  anyway.  The  plan  for  this  was 
complete.  They  were  only  waiting  for  ray  help,  that  is  for  the 
document. 

The  second  plan  was  to  desert  Anna  Andreyevna,  throw  her 
over,  and  sell  the  letter  to  Mme.  Ahmakov,  if  that  would  pay 
him  better.  In  this  he  was  reckoning  on  Biiring.  But  Lambert 
had  not  yet  applied  to  Mme.  Ahmakov,  and  was  only  on  her 
track.     He  was  waiting  for  me  too. 

Oh,  he  needed  me,  that  is,  not  me  but  the  letter  !  He  had 
formed  two  plans  in  regard  to  me  also.  The  first  was,  if  neces- 
sary, to  act  in  concert  with  me,  and  to  go  halves  with  me,  first 
taking  possession  of  me  morally  and  physically.  But  the  second 
plan  attracted  him  much  more.  It  was  to  deceive  me  as  a  silly 
boy,  and  to  steal  the  letter  from  me,  or  even  simply  to  take  it 
from  me  by  force.  This  was  his  favourite  plan,  and  the  one  he 
cherished  in  his  dreams.  I  repeat,  there  was  a  circumstance 
which  made  him  reckon  with  certainty  on  the  success  of  his 
second  plan,  but,  as  I  have  said  already,  I  will  explain  that  later. 
In  any  case  he  awaited  me  with  nervous  impatience.  Every- 
thing depended  upon  me,  every  step  and  every  decision. 

And  I  roust  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  knew  how  to 
restrain  himself  till  the  time  came,  in  spite  of  his  hasty  temper. 
He  did  not  come  to  see  me  all  the  while  I  was  ill,  he  only  came 
once  to  the  house  and  saw  Versilov  ;  he  did  not  worry  or  frighten 
me,  he  kept  up  an  attitude  of  complete  independence  as  regards 
me  till  the  day  and  hour  of  my  going  out.  As  for  the  possibility 
of  my  giving  up  the  letter,  telling  about  it,  or  destroying  it,  he 
had  no  anxiety  on  that  score.  From  my  words  he  had  been  able 
to  gather  how  much  importance  I  attached  to  secrecy,  and  how 
afraid  I  was  that  some  one  might  find  out  about  the  letier.  And 
that  I  should  go  straight  to  him  and  to  no  one  else,  on  the  first 
day  I  was  well  enough,  he  did  not  doubt  in  the  least  either. 
Darya  Onisimovna  came  to  see  me  partly  by  his  orders,  and  he 
knew  that  my  curiosity  and  apprehension  were  already  aroused, 
and  that  I  should  not  hold  out.  .  .  .  And,  indeed,  he  had  taken 
all  precautions,  he  was  in  a  position  to  know  what  day  I  was 
going  out,  so  that  I  could  hardly  have  eluded  him  if  I  had  wanted 
to. 

But  however  eagerly  Lambert  may  have  been  expecting  me 
Anna  Andreyevna  perhaps  was  awaiting  me  even  more  eagerly 
I  must  say  frankly  that  Lambert  was  to  some  extent  right  in  his 
reckoning  when  he  contemplated  throwing  her  over,  and  it  was 

2o 

401 


her  own  fault.  In  spite  of  the  agreement  that  no  doubt  existed 
between  them  (in  what  form  I  don't  know,  but  I  have  no  doubt 
about  it),  Anna  Andreyevna  up  to  the  very  last  moment  was 
not  fully  open  vrith  him.  She  did  not  lay  all  her  cards  on  the 
table.  She  hinted  at  complete  agreement  on  her  part  and  at  all 
sorts  of  promises — but  she  confined  herself  to  hints.  She  listened 
perhaps  to  his  whole  plan  in  detail ;  but  she  only  approved  in 
silence.  I  have  good  evidence  for  this  conclusion,  and  the  reason 
of  it  all  was  that  she  was  uxiiting  for  me.  She  луоиИ  rather  have 
had  to  do  with  me  than  with  the  rascally  Lambert — that's  a  fact 
I  have  no  doubt  of.  That  I  understand  ;  but  her  mistake  was  in 
letting  Lambert  at  last  understand  it.  And  it  would  not  have 
suited  him  at  all,  if  passing  him  by  she  had  enticed  the  letter 
out  of  me  and  entered  into  a  compact  with  me.  Moreover,  at 
that  time  he  had  complete  confidence  in  the  "  soundness  of  the 
job  "  ;  another  man  in  his  place  would  have  had  fears  and  still 
have  been  uncertain  ;  but  Lambert  was  young,  insolent,  and 
filled  with  impatient  greed  for  gain  ;  he  knew  little  of  human 
nature,  and  confidently  assumed  that  all  were  scoundrels. 
Such  a  man  could  have  no  doubts,  especially  as  he  had  already 
observed  all  sorts  of  traits  in  Anna  Andreyevna  which  supported 
his  belief. 

One  last  point,  and  the  most  important :  did  Versilov  know 
anything  by  that  time,  and  had  he  even  then  taken  part  with 
Lambert  in  any  plan,  however  remote  ?  No,  no,  no,  at  that  time 
he  had  not.  Though,  perhaps,  even  then  a  fatal  word  had  been 
dropped.     But  enough,  enough,  I  am  hastening  too  far  ahead. 

Well,  and  what  of  me  ?  Did  I  know  anything,  and  what  did 
I  know  on  the  day  I  went  out  ?  When  I  began  this  entrefilet 
I  declared  that  I  knew  nothing  on  that  day,  but  found  out  about 
everything  much  later,  and  only  when  it  was  all  over.  That's  the 
truth,  but  is  it  th,^  full  truth  ?  No,  it  is  not ;  I  certainly  knew 
something  already,  I  knew  a  great  deal,  indeed.  But  how  ? 
Let  the  reader  remember  my  dream  /  If  I  could  have  had  such 
a  dream,  if  it  could  have  surged  up  from  my  heart  and  taken 
that  shape,  I  must  have  had,  not  a  knowledge  but  a  presenti- 
ment of  a  very  great  deal  of  what  I  have  just  explained,  though 
in  actual  fact  I  only  discovered  it  when  everything  was  over.  I 
had  no  knowledge  of  it,  but  my  heart  was  throbbing  with  fore- 
bodings, and  evil  spirits  had  possession  of  my  dreams.  And  it 
was  to  that  man  that  I  rushed,  fully  knowing  what  sort  of  man 
be  was  and  foreseeing  everything  even  in  detail.     And  why  did 

402 


I  rush  to  him  ?  Imagine  ;  it  seems  to  me  now  at  the  very  minute 
when  I  am  writing  that  I  knew  exactly  at  the  time  why  I  was 
rushing  to  him,  though,  again,  I  knew  nothing  then.  Perhaps 
the  reader  will  understand  this.  Now  to  get  on  with  my  story, 
fact  by  fact. 


It  begins  two  days  before  my  outbiu'st,  when  Liza  came  home 
m  the  evening  in  a  state  of  agitation.  She  felt  terribly  humiliated 
and  indeed  something  insufferable  had  happened  to  her. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  terms  she  was  on  with  Vassin. 
She  went  to  see  him  not  simply  to  show  us  that  she  did  not  need 
us,  but  because  she  really  had  a  high  opinion  of  him.  Their 
acquaintance  had  begun  at  Luga,  and  I  always  fancied  that  Vassin 
was  not  indifferent  to  her.  In  the  misfortunes  that  had  over- 
whelmed her  she  might  naturally  have  wished  for  the  advice 
of  a  calm,  resolute,  always  lofty  mind  such  as  she  supposed 
Vassin 's  to  be.  Besides,  women  are  not  very  clever  in  appre- 
ciating a  man's  mind  at  its  true  value  when  they  like  a  man  ; 
and  they  will  gladly  accept  paradoxes  as  the  closest  reasoning, 
if  they  fall  in  with  their  own  desires.  What  Liza  liked  in  Vassin 
was  his  sympathy  for  her  in  her  position  and,  as  she  had  fancied 
at  first,  his  sympathy  with  Prince  Sergay.  When,  later  on, 
she  suspected  his  feeling  for  her,  she  could  not  help  appreciating 
the  sympathy  he  showed  for  his  rival.  When  she  told  Prince 
Sergay  that  she  sometimes  went  to  consult  Vassin,  he  had  from 
the  first  shown  the  greatest  uneasiness  ;  he  began  to  be  jealous. 
Liza  was  offended  at  this,  and  purposely  maintained  her  friendly 
relations  with  Vassm.  Prince  Sergay  said  nothing,  but  was 
gloomy,  Liza  confessed  to  me  (long  afterwards)  that  Vassin 
had  very  soon  ceased  to  attract  her  ;  he  was  composed,  and  just 
this  everlasting  unruffled  composure,  which  had  so  attracted  her 
at  first,  afterwards  seemed  to  her  distasteful.  One  would  have 
thought  he  was  practical,  and  he  did,  in  fact,  give  her  some 
apparently  good  advice,  but  all  his  advice,  as  ill-luck  would  have 
it,  appeared  later  on  impossible  to  carry  out.  He  gave  his 
opinions  sometimes  too  conceitedly,  and  showed  no  trace  of 
diffidence  with  her,  becoming  more  and  more  free  in  his  manner 
as  time  went  on,  which  she  ascribed  to  his  unconsciously  feeling 
less  and  less  respect  for  her  position.  Once  she  thanked  him  for 
his  invariable  goodwill  to  me,  and  for  talking  to  me  as  an 

403 


intellectual  equal  though  he  was  so  superior  to  me  (she  was 
repeating  my  words).     He  answered  : 

"  That's  not  so,  and  not  for  that  reason.  It's  because  I  see  no 
difference  between  him  and  other  people,  I  don't  consider  him 
more  foolish  than  the  clever,  or  more  evil  than  the  good.  I  treat 
every  one  alike  because  every  one's  alike  in  my  eyes." 

"  Why,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  see  no  differences  1  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  people  are  all  different  in  one  way  or  another, 
hut  differences  don't  exist  for  me  because  the  differences  between 
people  don't  concern  me  ;  to  me  they  are  all  the  same  and  every- 
thing's the  same  ;  and  so  I'm  equally  kind  to  all." 

"  And  don't  you  fmd  it  dull  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  always  satisfied  with  myself." 

"  And  there's  nothing  you  desire  ?  " 

"  Of  course  there  is.  But  nothing  I  desire  very  much.  There's 
scarcely  anything  I  want,  not  another  rouble.  Whether  I  wear 
cloth  of  gold  or  remain  as  I  am  is  all  the  same  to  me.  Cloth 
of  gold  would  add  nothing  to  me.  Tit-bits  don't  tempt  me. 
Could  places  or  honours  be  worth  the  place  that  I  am  worth  ?  " 

Liza  declared  on  her  honour  that  these  were  literally  his  Avords. 
But  it's  not  fair  to  criticize  them  like  this  without  knowing  the 
cireum«;tances  under  which  they  were  uttered. 

Little  by  little  Liza  came  also  to  the  conclusion  that  his  in- 
dulgent attitude  to  Prince  Sergay  was  not  due  to  sympathj'  for 
her,  but  was  perhaps  only  because  "  all  were  alike  to  him.  and 
differences  did  not  exist  for  him."  But  in  the  end  he  did  ap- 
parently begin  to  lose  his  indifference,  and  to  take  up  an  attitude 
not  only  of  disapproval,  but  even  of  contemptuous  irony  towards 
Prince  Sergay.  This  incensed  Liza,  but  Vassin  remained  tm- 
affected.  Above  all,  he  alwaj's  expressed  himself  gently,  and 
showed  no  indignation  even  in  his  disapproval,  but  confined  him- 
self to  logical  exposition  of  her  hero's  worthlessness  ;  but  there 
was  irony  in  this  very  logic.  Finally  he  demonstrated  almost 
directly  the  "  irrationality,"  the  perverse  violence  of  her  love. 
"  Your  feelings  have  been  mistaken,  and  a  mistake  once  recog- 
nized ought  invariably  to  be  corrected." 

This  had  happened  on  that  very  day  ;  Liza  indignantly  got  up 
from  her  place  to  go,  but  it  will  hardly  be  believed  Avhat  this 
rational  man  did  next,  and  how  he  concluded.  \Mth  the  air 
of  a  man  of  honour,  and  even  with  feeling,  he  offered  her  his  hand. 
Liza  bluntly  called  him  a  fool  to  his  face  and  walked  out. 

To  suggest  deserting  a  man  in  misfortune  because  that  man  was- 

404 


"  unworthy  of  her,"  and  above  all  to  suggest  it  to  a  woman 
who  was  with  child  by  that  very  man — there  you  have  the  mind 
of  these  people  !  I  call  this  being  dreadfully  theoretical  and 
knowing  nothing  whatever  of  life,  and  put  it  down  to  a  prodigious 
conceit.  And  what's  more,  Liza  saw  quite  clearly  that  he  was 
actually  proud  of  his  action,  because  he  knew  of  her  condition. 
With  tears  of  indignation  she  hurried  off  to  Prince  Sergay, 
and  he  positively  surpassed  Vassin.  One  would  have  thought 
that  after  what  she  told  him  he  might  have  been  convinced 
that  he  had  no  cause  for  jealousy  ;  but  he  became  perfectly 
frantic.  But  jealous  people  are  always  like  that  1  He  made  a 
fearful  scene  and  insulted  her  so  outrageously  that  she  almost 
resolved  to  break  off  all  relations  with  him. 

She  came  home,  however,  still  controlling  herself,  but  she  could 
not  help  telling  mother.  Oh,  that  evening  the  ice  was  com- 
pletely broken,  and  they  were  on  their  old  affectionate  terms 
again  ;  both,  of  course,  shed  tears  as  usual  in  each  other's  arms, 
and  Liza  apparently  regained  her  composure,  though  she  was 
very  gloomy.  She  sat  through  the  evening  in  Makar  Ivano- 
vitch's  room,  without  uttering  a  word,  but  without  leaving  the 
room.  She  Hstened  very  attentively  to  what  he  said.  Ever 
since  the  incident  with  the  bench  she  had  become  extremely 
and,  as  it  were,  timidly  respectful  to  him,  though  she  still 
remained  taciturn. 

But  this  time  Makar  Ivanovitch  suddenly  gave  an  unexpected 
and  wonderful  turn  to  the  conversation.  1  may  mention  that 
Versilov  and  the  doctor  had  talked  of  his  health  with  very  gloomy 
faces  that  morning.  I  may  mention,  too,  that  we  had  for  some 
days  been  talking  a  great  deal  about  mother's  birthday,  and 
making  preparations  to  celebrate  it  in  five  days'  time.  Apropos 
of  her  birthday  Makar  Ivanovitch  suddenly  launched  into 
reminiscences  of  mother's  childhood,  and  the  time  when  she 
"  couldn't  stand  up  on  her  little  feet."  "  She  was  never  out  of 
my  arms,"  the  old  man  recalled.  "  I  used  to  teach  her  to  walk 
too  sometimes.  I  set  her  up  in  a  corner  three  steps  away  and 
called  her,  and  she  used  to  totter  across  to  me,  and  she  wasn't 
frightened,  but  would  run  to  me  laughing,  she'd  rush  at  me 
and  throw  her  arms  round  my  neck.  I  used  to  tell  you  fairy- 
tales later  on,  Sofia  Andreyevna  ;  you  were  very  fond  of  fairy 
tales,  you'd  sit  on  my  knee  listening  for  two  hours  at  a  stretch 
They  used  to  wonder  in  the  cottage,  '  just  see  how  she's  taken  to 
Makar.'     Or  I'd  carry  you  off  into  the  woods,  I'd  seek  out  a 

405 


raspberry-bush,  I  would  sit  you  down  by  it,  and  cut  you  a  whistle- 
pipe  out  of  wood.  When  we'd  had  a  nice  walk,  I'd  carry  you 
home  in  my  arms — and  the  little  thing  would  fall  asleep.  Once 
she  was  afraid  of  a  wolf  ;  she  flew  to  me  all  of  a  tremble,  and 
there  wasn't  a  wolf  there  at  all." 

"  I  remember  that,"  said  mother. 

"  Can  you-really  remember  it  ?  " 

"  I  remember  a  great  deal.  Ever  since  I  remember  anything 
in  life  I  have  felt  your  love  and  tender  care  over  me,"  she  said 
in  a  voice  full  of  feeling,  and  she  suddenly  flushed  crimson. 

Makar  Ivanovitch  paused  for  a  little. 

"  Forgive  me,  children,  I  am  leaving  you.  The  term  of  my  life 
is  close  at  hand.  In  my  old  age  I  have  found  consolation  for 
all  afflictions.    Thank  you,  my  dear  ones." 

"  That's  enough,  Makar  Ivanovitch  darling,"  exclaimed  Versi- 
lov  in  some  agitation.  "  The  doctor  told  me  just  now  that  you 
were  a  great  deal  better.  ..." 

Mother  listened  in  alarm. 

"  Why,  what  does  he  know,  your  Alexandr  Semyonovitch — 
he's  a  dear  man  and  nothing  more.  Give  over,  friends,  do  you 
think  that  I'm  afraid  to  die  ?  After  my  morning  prayer  to-day 
I  had  the  feeling  in  my  heart  that  I  should  never  go  out  again 
from  here  ;  it  was  told  me.  Well,  what  of  it,  blessed  be  the  name 
of  the  Lord.  Yet  I  have  a  longing  to  be  looking  upon  all  of  you 
still.  Job,  after  all  his  sufferings,  was  comforted  looking  upon  his 
new  children,  and  forgot  the  children  that  were  gone — it  is  im- 
possible !  Only  with  the  years  the  sorrow  is  mingled  with  the 
joy  and  turned  to  sighs  of  gladness.  So  it  is  in  the  world. 
Every  soul  is  tried  and  is  comforted.  I  thought,  children,  to  say 
one  little  word  to  you,"  he  went  on  with  a  gentle,  exquisite  smile 
which  I  shall  never  forget,  and  he  turned  to  me,  "  be  zealous  for 
the  Holy  Church,  my  dear,  and  if  the  time  calls  for  it — die  for  her  ; 
but  wait  a  bit,  don't  be  frightened,  it  won't  be  at  once,"  he  added, 
laughing.  "  Now  perhaps  you  don't  think  of  it,  afterwards  you 
will  think  of  it.  And  something  more.  Any  good  thing  you 
bethink  yourself  to  do,  do  it  for  the  sake  of  God  and  not  for  envy. 
Stand  Hrmly  to  your  cause,  and  do  not  give  way  through  any  sort 
of  cowardice  ;  act  steadily,  neither  rushing  nor  turning  about ; 
well,  that  is  all  I  want  to  tell  you.  Only  accustom  yourself  to 
pray  daily  and  unceasingly.  I  say  this  now,  maybe  you'U 
remember  it.  I  should  like  to  say  something  to  you,  too,  Audrey 
Petrovitch,  sir,  but  God  will  find  your  heart  without  my  words. 

406 


And  for  long  years  we  have  ceased  to  speak  of  that,  ever  since 
that  arrow  pierced  my  heart.  Now  that  I  am  departing  I  would 
only  remind  you  of  what  you  promised  then.  .  .  ." 

He  almost  whispered  the  last  words,  with  his  eyes  cast  down. 

"  Makar  Ivanovitch  !  "  Versilov  said  in  confusion,  and  he  got 
up  from  his  chair. 

"  There,  there,  don't  be  troubled,  sir,  I  only  recalled  it  .  .  . 
and  in  the  sight  of  God  I  am  more  to  blame  than  any  of  you, 
seeing  that  though  you  were  my  master  I  oiight  not  to  have 
allowed  this  weakness,  and  therefore,  Sofia,  fret  not  your  soul 
too  much,  for  all  your  sin  is  mine,  and  you  scarcely  had  full 
judgment  in  those  days,  so  I  fancy  ;  nor  maybe  you  either,  sir," 
he  smiled  with  lips  that  quivered  from  some  sort  of  pain,  "  and 
though  I  might  then  have  taught  you,  my  wife,  even  with  the 
rod  and  indeed  ought  to  have,  yet  I  pitied  you  when  you  fell  in 
tears  before  me,  and  hid  nothing,  and  kissed  my  feet.  Not  to 
reproach  you  have  I  recalled  this,  beloved,  but  only  to  reijLmd 
Audrey  Petrovitch  .  .  .  for  you  remember,  sir,  yourself  your 
promise,  as  a  nobleman,  and  all  will  be  covered  with  the  wedding 
crown.     I  speak  before  the  children,  master  .  .  ." 

He  was  extremely  agitated  and  looked  at  Versilov  as  though 
expecting  from  him  some  word  of  confirmation.  I  repeat  it  was 
all  so  sudden,  so  unexpected,  that  I  sat  motionless.  Versilov 
was  no  less  agitated  :  he  went  up  to  mother  in  silence  and  warm  ly 
embraced  her ;  then  mother,  also  in  silence,  went  up  to  IMakar 
Ivanovitch  and  bowed  down  to  his  feet. 

In  short  the  scene  was  overwhelming  ;  on  this  occasion  we  were 
by  ourselves.  Even  Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  not  present.  Liza 
drew  herself  up  in  her  chair  and  listened  in  silence  ;  suddenly  she 
stood  up  and  said  firmly  to  Makar  Ivanovitch  : 

"  Bless  me,  too,  Makar  Ivanovitch  for  my  great  anguish.     To 
morrow  will  decide  my  whole  fate,  and  you  will  pray  for  me 
to-day." 

And  she  went  out  of  the  room.  I  knew  that  Makar  Ivano\atch 
knew  all  about  her  already  from  mother  But  it  was  the  first 
time  I  had  seen  mother  and  Versilov  side  by  side  :  till  then  I  had 
only  seen  her  as  his  slave  near  him.  There  was  still  so  much  I  did 
not  understand  and  had  not  detected  in  that  man  whom  I  had 
condemned,  and  so  I  went  back  to  my  room  in  confusion.  And 
it  must  be  said  that  it  was  just  at  this  time  that  my  perplexity 
about  him  was  greatest.  He  had  never  seemed  to  me  so 
mysterious  and  unfathomable  as  just  at  that  time  ;  but  it's  just 

407 


about  that  that  I'm  writing  this  whole  accoxmt ;  all  in  its  good 
time. 

"  It  turns  out  though,"  I  thought  to  myself  as  I  got  into  bed, 
'  that  he  gave  his  word  '  as  a  nobleman  '  to  marry  mother  if 
she  were  left  a  widow.     He  said  nothing  of  that  when  he  told  me 
about  Makar  Ivanovitch  before." 

Liza  was  out  the  whole  of  the  following  day,  and  when  she  came 
back,  rather  late,  she  went  straight  to  Makar  Ivanovitch.  I 
thought  I  would  not  go  in  that  I  might  not  be  in  their  way,  but 
soon,  noticing  that  mother  and  Versilov  луеге  already  there,  I 
went  in.  Liza  was  sitting  by  the  old  man  crying  on  his  shoulder, 
and  he  with  a  sorrowful  face  was  stroking  her  head. 

Versilov  told  me  in  my  room  afterwards  that  Prince  Sergay 
insisted  on  having  his  way,  and  proposed  marrying  Liza  at  the 
first  opportunity  before  his  trial  was  over.  It  was  hard  for  Liza 
to  make  up  her  mind  to  it,  though  she  scarcely  had  the  right  to 
refuse.  And  indeed  Makar  Ivanovitch  "  commanded  "  her  to  be 
married.  Of  course  all  this  would  have  come  about  of  itself, 
and  she  would  certainly  have  been  married  of  her  о^лтг  accord 
and  without  hesitation,  but  at  the  moment  she  had  been  so  in- 
sulted by  the  man  she  loved,  and  she  was  so  humiliated  by  this 
love  even  in  her  own  eyes  that  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  decide. 
But  apart  from  her  mortification  there  was  another  circumstance 
deterring  her  of  which  I  could  have  no  suspicion. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  all  those  young  people  on  the  Petersburg 
Side  were  arrested  ?  "  Versilov  added  suddenly. 
"  AVhat  ?     Dergatchev  ?  "  I  cried. 
"  Yes,  and  Vassin,  too." 

I  was  amazed,  especially  to  hear  about  Vassin. 
"  Why,  was  he  mixed  up  in  anything  ?     Good  heavens,  what 
will  happen  to  them  now  !      And  just  when  Liza  was  being  so 
severe  upon  him  !  .  .  .  What  do  you  think  ?     What  maj'  happen 
to  them  ?     It's  Stebelkov,  I  swear  it's  Stebelkov's  doing." 

"  We  won't  go  into  it,"  said  Versilov,  looking  at  me  strangely 
(as  people  look  at  a  man  who  has  no  knowledge  or  suspicion  of 
something).  "  Who  can  tell  what  is  going  on  among  them,  and 
who  can  tell  what  may  happen  to  them  ?  I  didn't  come  to  speak 
of  that.  I  hear  you  meant  to  go  out  to-morrow.  Won't  you  be 
going  to  see  Prince  Sergay  ?  " 

"  The  first  thing  ;  though  I  must  own  it's  very  distasteful  to 
me.     Why,  have  you  some  message  to  send  him  ?  " 

"No,  nothing.     I  shall  see  him  myself.     I'm  sorry  for  Liza. 

408 


And  Avhat  advice  can  Makar  Ivanovitch  give  her  ?  He  knows 
nothing  about  Ufe  or  about  people  himself.  Another  thing,  my 
dear  boy"  (it  was  a  long  time  since  he  had  called  me  "my  dear 
boy"),  "  there  are  here  too  .  .  .  certain  young  men  .  .  .  among 
whom  is  your  old  schoolfellow,  Lambert  ...  I  fancy  they  are 
all  great  rascals.  ...  I  speak  simply  to  warn  you.  .  .  .  But,  of 
course,  it's  your  business,  and  I  have  no  right  .  .  ." 

"  Andrey  Petrovitch  !  "  I  clutched  his  hand,  speaking  without 
a  moment's  thought  and  almost  by  inspiration  as  I  sometimes  do 
(the  room  was  almost  in  darkness).  "  Andrey  Petrovitch,  1  have 
said  nothing  ;  you  have  seen  that  of  course,  I  have  been  silent  till 
now,  do  you  know  why  ?  To  avoid  knowing  your  secrets.  I've 
simply  resolved  not  to  know  them,  ever.  I'm  a  coward.  I'm 
afraid  your  secrets  may  tear  you  out  of  my  heart  altogether,  and 
1  don't  want  that  to  happen.  Since  it's  so,  why  should  you  know 
my  secrets  ?     It  doesn't  matter  to  you  where  I  go.     Does  it  ?  " 

"  You  are  right ;  but  not  a  word  more,  I  beseech  you  !  "  he 
said,  and  went  away.  So,  by  accident,  we  had  the  merest  scrap 
of  an  explanation.  But  he  only  added  to  my  excitement  on  the 
eve  of  my  new  step  in  life  next  day,  and  I  kept  waking  up  all 
night  in  consequence.     But  I  felt  quite  happy. 


Next  day  I  went  out  of  the  house  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
doing  my  utmost  to  steal  out  quietly  without  taking  leave  or 
saying  anythuig.  I,  so  to  speak,  slipped  out.  Why  I  did  so  I 
don't  know  ;  but  if  even  mother  had  seen  that  I  was  going 
out  and  spoken  to  me  I  should  have  answered  with  something 
spiteful.  When  I  foimd  myself  in  the  street  and  breathed  the 
cold  outdoor  air  I  shuddered  from  an  intense  feeling — almost 
animal — which  I  might  call  "carnivorous."  What  was  I  going 
for,  where  was  I  going  ?  The  feeling  was  utterly  undetined 
and  at  the  same  time  I  felt  frightened  and  dehghted,  both  at 
once. 

"  Shall  I  disgrace  myself  to-day  or  not  ?  "  I  thought  to  m\-self 
with  a  swagger,  though  I  knew  that  the  step  once  taken  that  day 
would  be  decisive,  and  could  not  be  retrieved  all  my  life.  But 
it's  no  use  talking  in  riddles. 

I  went  straight  to  the  prison  to  Prince  Sergay.  I  had  received 
a  letter  for  the  superintendent  from  Tatyana  Pavlovna  two  days 

409 


before,  and  I  met  with  an  excellent  reception.  I  don't  know 
whether  he  was  a  good  man,  and  it's  beside  the  point ;  but  he 
permitted  my  interview  with  the  prince  and  arranged  that  it 
should  take  place  in  his  room,  courteously  giving  it  up  for  our  use. 
The  room  was  the  typical  room  of  a  government  official  of  a 
certain  standing,  living  in  a  government  building — I  think  to 
describe  it  is  unnecessary. 

So  it  tiimed  out  that  Prince  Sergay  and  I  were  left 
alone. 

He  came  in  dressed  in  some  sort  of  half-military  attire,  but 
wearing  very  clean  linen  and  a  dandified  tie  ;  he  was  washed  and 
combed,  at  the  same  time  he  looked  terribly  thin  and  very  yellow. 
I  noticed  the  same  yellowness  even  in  his  eyes.  In  fact  he  was 
so  changed  in  appearance  that  I  stood  still  in  amazement. 

"  How  you  have  changed  !  "  I  cried. 

"  That's  nothing.  Sit  down,  dear  boy,"  half-fatuously  he 
motioned  me  to  the  armchair  and  sat  down  opposite,  facing 
me.  "  Let's  get  to  the  point.  You  see,  my  dear  Alexey 
Makarovitch  .  .  ." 

"  Arkady,"  I  corrected  him. 

"  What  ?  Oh  yes  !  No  matter  !  Oh  yes  !  "  He  suddenly 
collected  himself.  "  Excuse  me,  my  dear  fellow,  we'll  return  to 
the  point." 

He  was,  in  fact,  in  a  fearful  hiu-ry  to  turn  to  something.  He 
was  entirely  from  head  to  foot  absorbed  by  something  ;  some 
vital  idea  which  he  wanted  to  formulate  and  expound  to  me. 
He  talked  a  great  deal  and  fearfully  fast,  gesticulating  and  ex- 
plaining with  strained  and  painful  effort,  but  for  the  first  minute 
I  really  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

"To  put  it  briefly  "  (he had  used  this  expression  "To  put  it 
briefly  "  ten  times  already),  "  to  put  it  briefly,"  he  concluded,  "  I 
troubled  you  yesterday,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  and  so  urgently 
through  Liza  begged  you  to  come  to  me,  as  though  the  place  were 
on  fire,  but  seeing  that  the  essential  part  of  the  decision  is  bound 
to  be  momentous  and  conclusive  for  me  .  .  ." 

"  Excuse  me,  prince,"  I  interrupted,  "  did  you  send  me  a 
message  yesterday  ?     Liza  said  nothing  to  me  about  it." 

"  What  ?  "  he  cried,  suddenly  stopping  short  in  extreme 
astonishment,  almost  in  alarm. 

"  She  gave  me  no  message  at  all.  She  came  home  last  night  so 
upset  that  she  couldn't  say  a  word  to  me." 

Prince  Sergay  leapt  up  from  his  seat 

410 


"  Are  you  telling  me  the  truth,  Arkady  Makarovitch  ?  If 
so  this  .  .  .  this  .  .  ." 

"  Why,  what  is  there  so  serious  about  it  ?  Why  are  you  so 
uneasy  ?     She  simply  forgot  or  something." 

He  sat  down  and  seemed  overcome  by  a  kind  of  stupor.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  news  that  Liza  had  given  me  no  message 
had  simply  crushed  him.  He  suddenly  began  talking  rapidly 
and  waving  his  hands,  and  again  it  was  fearfully  difficult  to  follow 
him. 

"  Stay  !  "  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  pausing  and  holding  up  his 
finger.  "  Stay,  this  .  .  .  this  ...  if  I'm  not  mistaken  this  is  a 
trick !  .  .  ."he  muttered  with  the  grin  of  a  maniac,  "  and  it 
means  that  .  .  ." 

"  It  means  absolutely  nothing,"  I  interposed,  "  and  I  can't 
understand  how  such  a  trivial  circumstance  can  worry  you  so 
much.  .  .  .  Ach,  prince,  since  that  time — since  that  night,  do 
you  remember  ..." 

"  Since  what  night,  and  what  of  it  ?  "  he  cried  pettishly, 
evidently  annoyed  at  my  interrupting  him. 

"  At  Zerstchikov's.  where  we  saw  each  other  last.  Why,  before 
your  letter.  .  .  .  Don't  you  remember  you  were  terribly  excited 
then,  but  the  difference  between  then  and  now  is  so  great  that  I 
am  positively  horrified  when  I  look  at  you." 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  pronounced  in  the  tone  of  a  man  of  polite  society, 
seeming  suddenly  to  remember.  "  Oh  yes  ;  that  evening  .  .  . 
I  heard.  .  .  .  Well,  and  are  you  better  ?  How  are  you  after  all 
that,  Arkady  Makarovitch  ?  .  .  .  But  let  us  return  to  the  point. 
I  am  pursuing  three  aims  precisely,  you  see  ;  there  are  three 
problems  before  me,  and  I  .  .  ." 

He  began  rapidly  talking  again  of  his  "  chief  point."  I  realized 
at  last  that  I  was  listening  to  a  man  who  ought  at  once  to  have 
at  least  a  vinegar  compress  applied  to  his  head,  if  not  perhaps  to 
be  bled.  All  his  incoherent  talk  turned,  of  course,  around  his 
trial,  and  the  possible  issue  of  it,  and  the  fact  that  the  colonel 
of  his  regiment  had  visited  him  and  given  him  a  lengthy  piece  of  ad  - 
vice  about  something  which  he  had  not  taken,  and  the  notes  he  had 
just  lately  sent  to  some  one,  and  the  prosecutor,  and  the  certainty 
that  they  would  deprive  him  of  his  rights  as  a  nobleman  and  send 
him  to  the  Northern  Region  of  Russia,  and  the  possibility  of  settling 
as  a  colonist  and  regaining  his  position,  in  Tashkent,  and  his  plans 
for  training  his  son  (which  Liza  would  bear  him)  and  handing 
domething  down  to  him   "  in  the  wilds  of  Archangel,  in  the 

411 


Holmogory."  "  I  wanted  your  opinion,  Arkady  Makarovitch, 
belie v^e  me  I  so  feel  and  value  ...  If  only  you  knew,  if  only  you 
knew,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  my  dear  fellow,  my  brother,  what 
Liza  means  to  me,  what  she  has  meant  to  me  here,  now,  all  this 
time  !  "  he  shouted,  suddenly  clutching  at  his  head  with  both 
hands, 

"  Serga}'  Fetrovitch,  surely  you  won't  sacrifice  her  by  taking 
her  away  with  you  !  To  the  Holmogory  !  "  I  could  not  refrain 
from  exclaiming.  Liza's  fate,  bound  to  this  maniac  for  life, 
suddenly,  and  as  it  were  for  the  first  time,  rose  clearly  before  my 
imagination.  He  looked  at  me,  got  up  again,  took  one  step, 
turned  and  sat  down  again,  still  holding  his  head  in  his  hands. 
"  I'm  always  dreaming  of  spiders  !  "  he  said  suddenly. 
"  You  are  terribly  agitated.  I  should  advise  you  to  go  to  bed, 
prince,  and  to  ask  for  a  doctor  at  once." 

"Ко,  excuse  me — of  that  afterwards.  I  asked  you  to  come 
and  see  me  chiefly  to  discuss  our  marriage.  The  marriage,  as  you 
know,  is  to  take  place  here,  at  the  church.  I've  said  so  already. 
Permission  has  been  given  for  all  this,  and,  in  fact,  they 
encourage  it.  .  .  .As  for  Liza  ..." 

"  Prince,  have  pity  on  Liza,  my  dear  fellow  !  "  I  cried.  "  Don't 
torture  her,  now,  at  least,  don't  be  jealous  !  " 

"  AVhat !  "  he  cried,  staring  at  me  intently  with  eyes  almost 
starting  out  of  his  head,  and  his  whole  face  distorted  into  a 
sort  of  broad  grin  of  senseless  inquiry.  It  лyas  evident  that  the 
words  "  don't  be  jealous  "  had  for  some  reason  made  a  fearful 
impression  on  him. 

"  Forgive  me,  prince,  I  spoke  without  thinking.  Oh  prince, 
I  have  lately  come  to  know  an  old  man,  my  nominal  fat  her.  .  .  . 
Oh,  if  you  could  see  him  you  would  be  calmer.  .  .  .  Liza  thinks 
so  much  of  him,  too." 

"  Ah,  yes,  Liza  .  .  .  ah,  yes,  is  that  your  father  ?     Or  .  .  . 
pardon,  топ  cher,  something  of  the  sort  ...  I  remember  .  .  . 
she  told  me  ...  an  old  man.  .  .  .  I'm  sure  of  it,  I'm  sure  of  it. 
I  knew  an  old  man,  too  .  .  .  mais  passons.  ...  The  chief  point 
is  to  make  clear  what's  essential  at  the  moment,  we  must  .  .  ." 
I  got  up  to  go  away.     It  was  painful  to  me  to  look  at  him. 
"  I  don't  understand  !  "  he  pronounced  sternly  and  with  dig- 
nity, seeing  that  I  had  got  up  to  go. 
"  It  hurts  me  to  look  at  you,"  I  said. 

"  Arkady   Makarovitch,   one   word,   one   word   more  !  "     He 
clutched  me  by  the  shoulder  with  quite  a  different  expression  and 

412 


gesture,  and  sat  me  down  in  the  armchair.     "  You've  heard  about 
those  .  .  .  you  understand  ?  "  he  bent  down  to  me. 

"  Oh  yes,  Dergatchev.  No  doubt  it's  Stebelkov's  doing  !  " 
I  cried  impulsively. 

"  Yes,  Stebelkov.     And  .  .  .  you  don't  know  ?  " 

He  broke  off  and  again  he  stared  at  me  with  the  same  wide 
eyes  and  the  same  spasmodic,  senselessly  questioning  grin,  which 
grew  broader  and  broader.  His  face  gradually  grew  paler.  I 
felt  a  sudden  shudder.  I  remembered  Versilov's  expression 
when  he  had  told  me  of  Vassin's  arrest  the  day  before. 

"  Oh,  is  it  possible  ?  "  I  cried,  panic-stricken. 

"  You  see,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  that's  why  I  sent  to  you  to 
explain  ...  I  wanted  .  .  ."he  began  whispering  rapidly. 

"  It  was  you  who  informed  against  Vassin  !  "  I  cried. 

"  No  ;  you  see,  there  was  a  manuscript.  Vassin  gave  it  only  a 
few  days  ago  to  Liza  ...  to  take  care  of.  And  she  left  it  here 
for  me  to  look  at,  and  then  it  happened  that  they  quarrelled 
next  day  ..." 

"  You  gave  the  manuscript  to  the  authorities  !  " 

"  Arkady  Makarovitch,  Arkady  Makarovitch  !  " 

**  And  so  you,"  I  screamed,  leaping  up,  emphasizing  every 
word,  "  without  any  other  motive,  without  any  other  object, 
simply  because  poor  Vassin  was  your  rival,  simply  out  of  jealousy, 
you  gave  up  the  manuscript  entrusted  to  Liza  .  ,  .  gave  it  up  to 
whom  ?     To  whom  ?     To  the  Public  Prosecutor  ?  " 

But  he  did  not  answer,  and  he  hardly  could  have  answered, 
for  he  stood  before  me  like  a  statue,  still  Avith  the  same  sickly 
smile  and  the  same  fixed  look.  But  suddenly  the  door  opened 
and  Liza  came  in.  She  almost  swooned  when  she  saw  us 
together. 

"  You're  here  ?  So  you're  here  ?  "  she  cried,  her  face  suddenly 
distorted,  seizing  my  hand.     "  So  you  .  .  .  know  ?  " 

But  she  could  read  in  my  face  already  that  I  "  knew."  With 
a  swift  irresistible  impulse  I  threw  my  arms  round  her  and  held 
her  close  !  And  at  that  minute  for  the  first  time  I  grasped  in  all 
its  intensity  the  hopeless,  endless  misery  which  shrouded  in 
unbroken  darkness  the  whole  life  of  this  .  .  .  wilful  seeker  after 
suffering. 

"  Is  it  possible  to  talk  to  him  now,"  she  said,  tearing  herself 
away  from  me.  "  Is  it  possible  to  be  лvith  him  ?  Why  are  you 
here  ?  Look  at  him  look  at  him  I  And  can  one,  can  one  judge 
him  ?  " 

413 


Her  face  was  full  of  infinite  suffering  and  infinite  coinpassion 
as  exclaiming  this  she  motioned  towards  the  unhappy  wretch. 

He  was  sitting  in  the  armchair  with  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands. . 
And  she  was  right.  He  was  a  man  in  a  raging  fever  and  not 
responsible.  They  put  him  in  the  hospital  that  morning,  and  by 
the  evening  he  had  brain  fever. 


Leaving  Prince  Sergay  with  Liza  I  went  off  about  one  o'clock 
to  my  old  lodging.  I  forgot  to  say  that  it  was  a  dull,  damp  day, 
with  a  thaw  beginning,  and  a  warm  wind  that  would  upset  the 
nerves  of  an  elephant.  The  master  of  the  house  met  me  with  a 
great  display  of  delight,  and  a  groat  deal  of  fuss  and  bustle,  which 
I  particularly  dishke,  especially  at  such  moments.  I  received 
this  drily,  and  went  straight  to  my  room,  but  he  followed  me, 
and  though  he  did  not  venture  to  question  me,  yet  his  face  was 
beaming  with  curiosity,  and  at  the  same  time  he  looked  as  though 
he  had  a  right  to  be  curious.  I  had  to  behave  politely  for  my 
o-WTi  sake  ;  but  though  it  was  so  essential  to  me  to  find  out 
something  (and  I  knew  T  should  learn  it),  I  yet  felt  it  revolting 
to  begin  cross-examining  him.  I  inquired  after  the  health  of  his 
wife,  and  we  went  in  to  see  her.  The  latter  met  me  deferentially 
indeed,  but  with  a  businesslike  and  taciturn  manner ;  this 
to  some  extent  softened  my  heart.  To  be  brief,  I  learned  on  this 
occasion  some  very  wonderful  things. 

Well,  of  course,  Lambert  had  been  and  he  came  twice  after- 
wards, and  "  he  looked  at  all  the  rooms,  saying  that  perhaps  he 
wouFd  take  them."  Darya  Onisimovna  had  come  several  times, 
goodness  knows  why.  "  She  was  very  inquisitive,"  added  my 
landlord. 

But  I  did  not  gratify  him  by  asking  what  she  was  inquisitive 
about.  I  did  not  ask  questions  at  all,  in  fact.  He  did  all  the 
talking,  while  I  kept  up  a  pretence  of  rummaging  in  my  trunk 
(though  there  was  scarcely  anything  left  in  it).  But  what  was 
most  vexatious,  he  too  thought  fit  to  play  at  being  mysterious, 
and  noticing  that  I  refrained  from  asking  questions,  felt  it  in- 
cumbent upon  him  to  be  more  fragmentary  and  even  enigmatic 
in  his  communications. 

"  The  young  lady  has  been  here,  too,"  he  added,  looking  at  me 
strangely. 

414 


"  What  young  iady  ?  " 

"  Anna  Andreyevna  ;  she's  been  here  twice  ;  she  made  the 
acquaintance  of  my  wife.  A  very  charming  person,  very  pleasant. 
Such  an  acquaintance  is  quite  a  privilege,  Arkady  Makarovitch." 

And  as  he  pronounced  these  words  he  positively  took  a  step 
towards  me.  He  seemed  very  anxious  that  I  should  understand 
something. 

"  Did  she  really  come  twice  ?  "  I  said  with  surprise. 

"  The  second  time  she  came  with  her  brother." 

"  That  was  with  Lambert,"  I  thought  involuntarily. 

"  No,  not  with  ]\lr.  Lambert,"  he  said,  seeming  to  guess  at  once, 
as  though  piercing  into  my  soul  with  his  eyes.  "  But  with  her 
real  brother,  young  Mr.  Versilov.     A  hummer- junker,  I  bt  Jicve." 

I  was  very  much  confused.  He  looked  at  me,  smiling  very 
caressingly. 

"  Oh,  and  some  one  else  came  and  was  asking  after  you,  that 
ma'amselle,  a  French  lady,  Mamselle  Alphonsine  de  Verden.  Oh, 
how  well  she  sings  and  recites  poetry.  She'd  slipped  off  to  see 
Prince  Nikolay  Ivanovitch  at  Tskarskoe,  to  sell  him  a  dcg,  she  told 
me,  a  rare  kind,  black,  and  no  bigger  than  Д'оиг  fist  .  .  ." 

I  asked  him  to  leave  me  alone  on  the  pretext  of  a  headache. 
He  immediately  fell  in  with  my  request,  even  breaking  off  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence,  and  not  only  without  the  slightest  sign  of 
huffiness,  but  almost  with  pleasure,  waving  his  hand  mysteriously, 
as  though  to  say,  "  I  understand,  I  understand,"  and  though  he 
did  not  actually  say  this  he  could  not  resist  the  satisfaction  of 
walking  out  of  the  room  on  tiptoe. 

There  arc  very  vexatious  people  in  the  world. 

I  sat  for  an  hour  and  a  half  alone,  deliberating  ;  rather,  not  really 
deliberatmg  but  dreaming.  Though  I  was  perplexed  I  was  not 
in  the  least  surprised.  I  even  expected  to  hear  something  more, 
other  marvels.  "  Perhaps  they  have  already  hatched  them,"  I 
thought.  I  had  for  a  long  time  been  firmly  persuaded  that  the 
machinery  of  their  plot  was  wound  up  and  was  in  full  swing. 
"  ТЬел''ге  only  waiting  for  me,"  I  thought  again  with  a  sort  of 
irritable  and  pleasant  self-satisfaction.  That  they  were  eagerly 
awaiting  me,  and  were  scheming  to  carry  out  some  plan  at  my 
lodging  was  clear  as  day.  "  The  old  prince's  wedding,  can  it  be  ? 
He's  surrounded  by  a  regular  network  of  intrigue.  But  am  I 
going  to  permit  it,  my  friends  ?  That's  the  question,"  I  said  in 
conclusion  with  haughty  satisfaction. 

"  Once  I  begin  I  shall  be  carried  away  by  the  whirlpool  like  a 

415 


chip.  Ara  I  free  now,  this  minute,  or  am  I  not  ?  When  I  go  back 
to  mother  this  evening  can  I  still  say  to  myself  as  I  have  done  all 
these  days  '  I  am  my  own  master  '  ?  " 

That  was  the  gist  of  my  questions,  or  rather  of  the  throbbing 
at  my  heart  in  the  hour  and  a  half  I  spent  sitting  on  the  bed  in 
the  corner,  with  my  elbows  on  my  knees  and  my  head  propped 
in  my  hands.  But  I  knew,  I  knew  even  then  that  all  these 
questions  were  utter  nonsense,  and  that  I  was  drawn  only  by  her 
—by  her,  by  her  alone  !  At  last  I  have  said  this  straight  out  and 
have  лvгitten  it  with  pen  on  paper,  though  even  now  as  I  write 
this  a  year  later  I  don't  know  what  name  to  give  to  the  feeling  I 
had  then  ! 

Oh,  I  was  sorry  for  Liza,  and  my  heart  was  full  of  a  most 
unfeiiined  grief.  Nothing  but  the  feeling  of  pain  on  her  account 
could  have  calmed  or  effaced  in  me  for  a  time  that  "  cariuvorous- 
ness  "  (I  recall  that  word).  But  Г  was  immensely  spurred  on  by 
curiosity  and  a  sort  of  dread  and  another  feeling — I  don't  know 
what ;  but  I  know  and  I  knew  then  that  it  was  an  evil  feeling. 
Perhaps  my  impulse  was  to  fall  at  her  feet,  or  perhaps  I  wanted 
to  put  her  to  every  torture,  and  "  quickly,  quickly  "  to  show  her 
something.  No  grief,  no  compassion  for  Liza,  could  stop  me. 
Could  I  have  got  up  and  gone  home  ...  to  Makar  Ivanovitch  ? 

"  And  is  it  quite  impossible  to  go  to  them,  to  find  out  every- 
thing from  them,  and  to  go  away  from  them  for  ever,  passing 
unscathed  among  marvels  and  monsters  ?  " 

At  three  o'clock,  pulling  myself  together  and  reflecting  that  I 
might  be  late,  I  went  out  hastily,  took  a  cab,  and  flew  to  Anna 
Andreyevna. 


CHAPTER  V 


As  soon  as  I  was  announced,  Anna  Andreyevna  threw  down  her 
sewing  and  rushed  to  meet  me  in  the  outermost  of  her  rooms, 
a  thing  which  had  never  happened  before.  She  held  out  both 
hands  to  me  and  flushed  quickly.  She  led  me  into  her  room 
in  silence,  sat  down  to  her  needlework  again,  made  me  sit  down 
beside  her.  She  did  not  go  on  with  her  sewing,  but  still 
scrutinized  me  with  the  same  fervent  sympathy,  without  uttering 
a  word. 

416 


"  You  sent  Darya  Onisimovna  to  me,"  I  began  bluntly,  rather 
overwhelmed  by  this  exaggerated  display  of  sympathy,  though 
I  found  it  agreeable. 

She  suddenly  began  talking  without  answering  my  question. 

"  I  have  heard  all  about  it,  I  know  all  about  it.  That  terrible 
night.  .  .  .  Oh,  what  you  must  have  gone  through  !  Can  it  be 
true  !  Can  it  be  true  that  you  were  found  unconscious  in  the 
frost  ?  " 

"  You  heard  that  .  .  .  from  Lambert.  ..."  I  muttered, 
reddening. 

"  I  heard  it  all  from  him  at  the  time  ;  but  I've  been  eager  to 
:see  you.  Oh,  he  came  to  me  in  alarm  !  At  your  lodging  .  .  . 
where  you  have  been  lying  ill,  they  would  not  let  him  in  to  see 
you  .  .  .  and  they  met  him  strangely  ...  I  really  don't  кполу 
how  it  was,  but  he  kept  telling  me  about  that  night ;  he  told  me 
that  when  you  had  scarcely  come  to  yovirself,  you  spoke  of  me, 
and  .  .  .  and  of  your  devotion  to  me.  I  was  touched  to  tears, 
Arkady  Makarovitch,  and  I  don't  know  how  I  have  deserved 
such  warm  sympathy  on  your  part,  especially  considering  the 
condition  in  which  you  were  yourself  !  Tell  me,  M.  Lambert 
was  the  friend  of  your  childhood,  was  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  what  happened  1  ...  I  confess  I  was  indiscreet, 
and  perhaps  I  told  him  then  a  great  deal  I  shouldn't  have." 

"  Oh,  I  should  have  heard  of  that  wicked  horrible  intrigue 
apart  from  him  !  I  always  had  a  presentiment  that  they  would 
drive  you  to  that,  always.  Tell  me,  is  it  true  that  Buruig  dared 
to  lift  his  hand  against  you  ?  " 

She  spoke  as  though  it  were  entirely  owing  to  Biiring  and  her 
that  I  had  been  found  under  the  wall.  And  she  is  right  too,  I 
thought,  but  I  flared  up  : 

"  If  he  had  lifted  his  hand  against  me,  he  would  not  have  gone 
away  unpunished.  And  I  should  not  be  sitting  before  you  now 
without  having  avenged  myself,"  I  answered  hotly.  It  struck 
me  that  she  wanted  for  some  reason  to  irritate  me,  to  set  me 
against  somebody  (I  knew  of  course  against  whom) ;  yet  I  fell 
in  with  it. 

"  You  say  that  you  had  a  presentiment  that  I  should  be 
driven  to  this,  but  on  Katerina  Nikolaevna's  side  it  was  of  course 
only  a  misunderstanding  .  .  .  though  it  is  true  that  she  was  too 
hasty  in  allowing  her  kindly  feeling  for  me  to  be  influenced  by 
that  misunderstanding.  .  .  ." 

"  I  should  think  she  was  too  hasty  indeed  1  "  Anna  Andreyevna 

417 


assented  quickly,  with  a  sort  of  ecstasy  of  sympathy.  "  Oh, 
if  only  you  knew  the  intrigue  that  is  being  hatched  there  now  ! 
Of  course,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  of  course  it  is  difficult  for  you 
to  realize  now  all  the  delicacy  of  my  position,"  she  brought  out, 
blushing  and  casting  down  her  eyes.  "  Since  I  saw  you  last  .  ,  . 
that  very  morning  I  took  a  step  which  not  everyone  would  be  able 
to  understand  and  interpret  rightly  ;  so  it  is  hardly  likely  that  it 
would  be  understood  by  anyone  with  yoiu"  still  uncorrupted 
mind,  and  your  fresh,  loving,  imsophisticated  heart.  Believe 
me,  my  dear  friend,  I  appreciate  your  devotion  to  me,  and  I 
shall  repay  it  with  my  everlasting  gratitude.  In  the  world,  of 
course,  they  will  throw  stones  at  me,  they  have  thrown  them 
already.  But  even  if  they  were  right,  from  their  odious  point 
of  view,  which  of  them  could,  which  of  them  dare  judge  me  ? 
I  have  been  abandoned  by  my  father  from  childhood  up  ;  we 
Versilovs  are  an  ancient  noble  Russian  family,  yet  we  are 
adventurers,  and  I  am  eating  the  bread  of  charity.  Was  it  not 
natural  I  should  turn  to  one  who  has  taken  the  place  of  a  father 
to  me,  at  whose  hands  I  have  received  nothing  but  kindness 
during  all  these  years  '2  My  feelings  for  him  are  known  only  to 
God,  and  he  alone  can  judge  them,  and  I  refuse  to  accept  the 
judgment  of  the  world  upon  the  step  I  have  taken.  When 
there  is,  moreover,  at  the  bottom  of  this  the  most  cunning,  the 
most  evil  intrigue,  and  the  plot  to  ruin  a  trusting,  noble-hearted 
father  is  the  work  of  his  own  daughter,  is  it  to  be  endured  ?  No, 
I  will  save  him  if  I  have  to  ruin  my  reputation,  I  am  ready  to 
be  with  him  simply  as  a  nurse,  to  take  care  of  him,  and  to  look 
after  him,  but  I  will  not  let  hateful,  cold,  mercenary  worldlinesh 
triumph  !  " 

She  spoke  with  unwonted  fire,  very  possibly  half  assumed, 
though  at  the  same  time  sincere,  because  it  was  evident  how 
deeply  involved  she  was  in  the  matter.  Oh,  I  felt  that  she  was 
lying  (though  sincerely,  for  one  can  lie  sincerely).  And  that  she 
was  now  evil ;  but  it  is  wonderful  how  it  often  is,  in  dealing  with 
women  :  this  assumption  of  perfect  refinement,  these  lofty 
manners,  these  inaccessible  heights  of  well-bred  grandeur  and 
proud  chastity — all  this  quite  threw  me  out  of  my  reckoning, 
and  I  began  agreeing  with  her  on  every  point,  so  long  as  I  was 
with  her  ;  that  is,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  contradict  her, 
anyway.  Oh.  a  man  is  in  absolute  moral  .slavery  to  a  woman, 
esj)ecially  if  he  is  a  generous  man  !  Such  a  woman  can  convince 
1  generous  man  of  anything  she  likes.     "  She  and  Lambert,  my 

418 


goodness  !  "  I  thought,  looking  at  her  in  perplexity.  To  tell 
the  whole  truth,  however,  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  her  to 
this  day  ;  truly  her  feelings  were  known  only  to  God,  and,  besides, 
human  beings  are  such  complicated  machines,  that  one  caimot 
analyse  them  in  some  cases,  and  above  ail  if  the  human  being  in 
question  is  a  woman. 

"  Anna  Andreyevna,  what  is  it  you  exactly  want  me  to  do  1  '* 
I  asked,  with  a  good  deal  of  decision  however. 

"  How  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  your  question,  Arkady 
Makarovitch  ?  " 

"  I  fancy,  from  everything  .  .  .  and  from  certain  other  con- 
siderations .  .  ."I  explained  stammering,  "  that  you  sent  to 
me  because  you  expected  something  from  me  ;  so  what  is  it 
exactly  ?  " 

Without  answermg  my  question,  she  immediately  began 
talking  again,  as  rapidly  and  as  earnestly  as  before  : 

"  But  I  cannot,  I  am  too  proud  to  enter  into  explanations 
and  negotiations  with  unknown  persons,  like  M.  Lambert.     I 
have  been  waiting  for  you,   I  don't  want  M.  Lambert.     My 
position  is  awful,  desperate,  Arkady  Makarovitch  !     I  am  forced 
to  duphcit}',  hemmed  in  by  the  machinations  of  that  woman — 
and  that  is  more  than  I  can  endure.     I  am  driven  almost  to  the 
humiliation  of  intriguing,  and  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  as  my 
saviour.     You  must  not  blame  me  for  looking  greedily  about  me 
to  find  one  friend  at  least,  and  so  I  cannot  help  being  glad  to  see 
a  friend  :   he,  who  could  think  of  me  and  even  utter  my  name, 
half  frozen  on  that  night,  must  be  devoted  to  me.     That's  what 
I've  been  thinking  all  this  time  and  that  is  why  I  rely  on  you." 
She  looked  into  my  face  with  impatient  inquiry.    And  again 
I  had  not  the  heart  to  disillusion  her,  and  to  tell   her  plainly 
that  Lambert  had  deceived  her,  and  that  I  had  by  no  means  told 
him  that  I  was  so  devoted  to  her,  and  that  her  name  was  not 
the  only  one  I  mentioned.    And  so  by  my  silence  I  confirmed, 
as  it  were,  Lambert's  lie.     Oh,  she  knew  very  well,   I  am  con- 
vinced, that  Lambert  had  been  exaggerating  and  simply  lying 
to  her,  solely  in  order  to  have  a  plausible  excuse  to  call  upon 
her,  and  to  get  into  touch  with  her  ;  though  she  looked  into  my 
face  as  though  she  were  convinced  of  my  truth  and  devotion,  she 
must  have  known  that  I  did  not  bring  myself  to  contradict  her 
from  delicacy  of  feeling,  and  the  awkwardness  of  youth.     But 
v/hether  I  was  right  in  this  surmise,  I  don't  know.     Perhaps  I 
am  horribly  evil-minded. 

419 


"  My  brother  is  taking  my  part,"  she  said  with  sudden  heat, 
seeing  that  I  was  not  disposed  to  speak. 

"  I'm  told  you  have  been  at  my  lodgings,"  I  muttered  in 
confusion. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  you  know  poor  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch  has  no 
place  now  where  he  can  take  refuge  from  this  intrigue,  or  rather 
from  his  own  daughter,  unless  in  your  lodgings,  that  is  the 
lodgings  of  a  friend  ;  you  know  he  looks  upon  you  at  least 
as  a  friend  !  .  .  .  Afld  if  you  will  only  do  something  for  his 
benefit,  then  do  this — if  only  you  can,  if  only  you  have  the 
generosity  and  courage  .  .  .  and,  and  finally  if  it  is  really  true, 
that  there  is  something  you  can  do.  Oh,  it  is  not  for  my  sake, 
it's  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  old  man,  the 
only  person  who  genuinely  loved  you,  and  who  has  become  as 
attached  to  you  as  though  you  were  his  own  son,  and  is  still 
missing  you  !  For  myself  I  expect  nothing,  even  from  you — 
since  even  my  own  father  has  played  me  such  a  treacherous, 
such  a  spiteful  trick." 

"  I  believe,  Andrey  Petrovitch  .  .  ."I  began. 

"  Andrey  Petrovitch,"  she  repeated  with  bitter  mockery  ; 
'*  Andrey  Petrovitch,  in  answer  to  a  direct  question  from  me, 
told  me  on  his  word  of  honour  that  he  had  never  had  any  inten- 
tions in  regard  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna  and  I  completely  believed 
it  when  I  took  that  step  ;  and  yet  it  seemed  that  his  composure 
only  lasted  till  he  heard  of  Baron  Buring." 

"  That's  wrong,  "  I  cried,  "  there  was  a  moment  when  I  too 
believed  in  his  love  for  that  woman,  but  it's  a  mistake  .  .  .  and 
even  if  it  were  so,  he  might,  I  should  think,  be  perfectly 
composed  about  it  now  .  .  .  since  the  retirement  of  that 
gentleman." 

"  What  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Buring." 

"  Who  has  told  you  of  his  retirement  ?     Perhaps  the  gentle 
man  in  question  never  had  any  such  views,"  she  jeered  malig- 
nantly ;   I  fancied  too,  that  she  looked  at  me  jeeringly. 

"  Darya  Onisimovna  told  me,"  I  muttered  in  confusion, 
which  I  was  not  able  to  conceal,  and  which  she  saw  only  too 
clearly. 

"  Darya  Onisimovna  is  я  very  nice  person,  and,  of  course,  I 
cannot  forbid  her  loving  ше,  but  she  has  no  means  of  knowing 
what  does  not  concern  he:." 

My  heart  began  to  ache  ;   and,  as  she  had  been  reckoning  on 

420 


rousing  my  indignation,  I  did  in  fact  begin  to  feel  indignant, 
but  not  with  "  that  woman,"  but  for  the  time  being  with  Anna 
Andreyevna  herself.     I  got  up. 

"  As  an  honourable  man,  I  ought  to  warn  you,  Anna  Andrey- 
evna, that  уош:  expectations  ...  in  regard  to  me  .  .  .  may 
turn  out  to  be  utterly  unfounded.  ..." 

"  I  expect  you  to  be  my  champion,"  she  said,  looking  at  me 
resolutely  :  "  abandoned  as  lam  by  every  one  .  .  .  your  sister, 
if  you  care  to  have  it  so,  Arkady  Makarovitch." 

Another  instant,  and  she  would  have  bm-st  into  tears. 

"  Well,  you  had  better  not  expect  anjrthing,  for,  '  perhaps  ' 
nothing  will  come  of  it,"  I  muttered  with  an  indescribable 
feeling  of  disgust. 

"  How  am  I  to  understand  your  words  ?  "  she  said,  showing 
her  consternation  too  plainly. 

"  Why,  that  I  am  going  away  from  you  all,  and — that's  the 
end  of  it !  "  I  suddenly  exclaimed  almost  furiously,  "  and  the 
letter — I  shall  tear  up.     Good-bye  " 

I  bowed  to  her,  and  went  out  without  speakmg,  though  at  the 
same  time  I  scarcely  dared  to  look  at  her,  but  had  hardly  gone 
downstairs  when  Darya  Onisimovna  ran  after  me,  with  a  half 
sheet  of  paper  folded  in  two.  Where  Darya  Onisimovna  had 
sprung  from,  and  where  she  had  been  sitting  while  I  was  talking 
with  Anna  Andreyevna,  I  cannot  conceive.  She  did  not  utter  a 
word,  but  merely  gave  me  the  paper,  and  ran  away.  I  unfolded 
it :  on  the  paper,  clearly  and  distinctly  written,  was  Lambert's 
address,  and  it  had  apparently  been  got  ready  several  days 
before.  I  suddenly  recalled  that  when  Darya  Onisimovna  had 
been  with  me  that  day,  I  had  told  her  that  I  did  not  know  where 
Lambert  lived,  meaning,  "  I  don't  know  and  don't  want  to 
know."  But  by  this  time  1  had  learned  Lambert's  address 
from  Liza,  whom  I  had  specially  asked  to  get  it  for  me  from  the 
address  bureau.  Anna  Andreyevna's  action  seemed  to  me  too 
definite,  even  cynical :  although  I  had  declined  to  assist  her, 
she  was  simply  sending  me  straight  to  Lambert,  as  though  she 
had  not  the  slightest  faith  in  my  refusal.  It  was  quite  clear  to 
me  that  she  knew  everj'thing  about  the  letter,  and  from  whom 
could  she  have  ieamt  it  if  not  from  Lambert,  to  whom  she  was 
sending  me  that  I  might  co-operate  with  him. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  they  aU,  every  one  of  them,  looked 
upon  me  as  a  feeble  boy  without  character  or  will,  with  whom 
they  could  do  anjiihing,  I  thought  with  indignation. 

421 


2 

Nevertheless,  I  did  go  to  Lambert's.  Where  else  could  I 
have  satisfied  my  curiosity  ?  Lambert,  as  it  appeared,  lived  a 
long  way  off,  in  Cross  АБеу,  close  to  the  Summer  Gardens,  still 
in  the  same  lodgings  ;  but  when  I  ran  away  from  him  that  night 
I  had  so  completely  failed  to  notice  the  way  and  the  distance, 
that  when  I  got  his  address  from  Liza,  four  days  earlier,  I  was 
surprised  and  could  scarcely  believe  that  he  lived  there.  As  I 
was  going  upstairs  I  noticed  at  the  door  of  the  flat,  on  the 
third  storey,  two  young  men,  and  thought  they  had  rung  the 
bell  before  I  came  and  were  waiting  for  the  door  to  be  opened. 
While  I  was  mounting  the  stairs  they  both,  turning  their  backs 
on  the  door,  scrutinized  me  very  attentively,  "  The  flat  is  all 
let  out  in  rooms,  and  they  must  be  going  to  see  another  lodger," 
I  thought,  frowning,  as  I  went  up  to  them.  It  would  have  been 
very  disagreeable  to  me  to  find  anyone  else  at  Lambert's.  Try- 
ing not  to  look  at  them,  I  put  out  my  hand  to  the  bell, 

"  Attendez  !  "  one  of  them  cried  to  me. 

"  Please,  please  don't  ring  again  yet,"  said  the  other  yoimg 
man  in  a  soft  musical  voice,  slightly  drawling  the  words.  "  Here 
we'll  finish  this,  and  then  we'll  all  ring  altogether.    Shall  we  ?  " 

I  waited.  They  were  both  very  young  men,  about  twenty  or 
twenty-two  ;  they  were  doing  something  rather  strange  at  the 
door,  and  I  began  to  watch  them  with  surprise.  The  one  who 
had  cried  "  attendez  "  was  a  very  tall  fellow,  over  six  feet,  thin 
and  lean,  but  very  muscular,  with  a  very  small  head  in  propor- 
tion to  his  height,  and  with  a  strange,  as  it  were  comic  expression 
of  gloom  on  his  rather  pock-marked  though  agreeable  and  by  no 
means  stupid  face.  There  was  a  look  as  it  were  of  exaggerated 
intentness  and  of  unnecessary  and  excessive  deteimination  in 
his  eyes.  He  was  very  badly  dressed  :  in  an  old  wadded  over- 
coat, with  a  little  fur  collar  of  mangy-looking  raccoon  ;  it  was 
too  short  for  him*  and  obviously  second-hand.  He  had  on 
shabby  high  boots  almost  like  a  peasant's,  and  on  his  head  was 
a  horribly  crushed,  dirty-looking  top-hat.  His  whole  appearance 
ЛУЁ13  marked  by  slovenliness  ;  his  ungloved  hands  were  dirty 
and  his  long  nails  were  black.  His  companion,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  smartly  dressed,  judging  from  his  light  skunk  fur  coat, 
his  elegant  hat,  and  the  light  new  gloves  on  his  slender  fingers  ; 

422 


he  was  about  my  height,  and  he  had  an  extremely  charming 
expression  on  his  fresh  and  youthful  face. 

The  tall  fellow  was  taking  off  his  tie — an  utterly  threadbare 
greasy  ribbon,  hardly  better  than  a  piece  of  tape — and  the  pretty - 
looking  youth,  taking  out  of  his  pocket  another  newly  purchased 
black  tie,  was  putting  it  round  the  neck  of  the  tall  fellow,  who, 
with  a  perfectly  serious  face,  submissively  stretched  out  hie 
very  long  neck,  throwing  his  overcoat  back  from  his  shoulders. 

"  No  ;  it  won't  do  if  the  shirt  is  so  dirty,"  said  the  younger 
one,  "  the  effect  won't  be  good,  it  will  only  make  it  look  dirtier. 
I  told  you  to  put  on  a  collar.  I  don't  know  how  ...  do  you 
know  how  to  do  it,"  he  said,  turning  suddenly  to  me. 

"  What  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  fasten  his  tie.  You  see  it  ought  to  go  like  this,  to 
hide  his  dirty  shirt,  or  else  the  whole  effect  is  spoilt  whatever 
we  do.  I  have  just  bought  the  tie  for  a  rouble  at  Filip's,  the 
hairdresser's,  on  purpose  for  him." 

"  Was  it — ^that  rouble  ?  "  muttered  the  tall  one. 

"  Yes,  I  haven't  a  farthing  now.  Then  you  can't  do  it  ?  In 
that  case  we  must  ask  Alphonsine." 

"  To  see  Lambert  ?  "  the  tall  fellow  asked  me  abruptly. 

"Yes,"  I  answered  with  no  less  determination,  looking- him 
in  the  face. 

"  Dolgorowky  1  "  he  went  on  with  the  same  air  and  the 
same  voice. 

"  No,  not  Korovkin,"  I  answered  as  abruptly,  mistaking  what 
he  said. 

"  Dolgorowky  ?  "  the  tall  fellow  almost  shouted  again,  and 
he  took  a  step  towards  me  almost  menacingly.  His  companion 
burst  out  laughing. 

"  He  says  '  Dolgorowky '  and  not  Korovkin,"  he  explained 
to  me.  "  You  know  in  the  Journal  des  Debats  the  French  con- 
stantly distort  Russian  names.  .  .  ." 

"  In  the  Independance,''  growled  the  tall  fellow. 

"...  Well,it's  just  the  same  in  the /ndepeTidawce.Dolgoruky. 
for  instance,  they  write  Dolgorowky — I  have  seen  it  myself,  and 
Valonyev  is  always  written  comte  Wallonieff." 

"  Doboyny  !  "  cried  the  tall  fellow. 

"  Yes,  there's  Doboyny,  too,  I've  seen  it  myself  ;  and  we  both 
laughed  ;  some  Russian  Madame  Doboyny  abroad  .  .  .  but 
there's  no  need  to  mention  them  all,  you  Imow,"  he  said,  turning 
suddenly  to  the  tall  fellow. 

423 


"  Excuse  me,  are  you  M.  Dolgoruky  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  name  is  Dolgoruky  ;  how  do  you  know  it  ?  * 

The  tall  one  suddenly  whispered  something  to  the  pretty - 
looking  lad  ;  the  latter  frowned  and  shook  his  head,  but  the  tall 
fellow  immediately  addressed  me  ; 

"  Monsieur  le  frince,  vous  n'avez  pas  de  rouble  d' argent  1юиг 
nous,  pas  deux,  mais  un  seul,  voulez-vous  ?  " 

"  Oh,  how  horrid  you  are,"  cried  the  boy. 

"  Nous  vous  rendons,"  concluded  the  tall  one,  mispronounc- 
ing the  French  words  coarsely  and  clumsily. 

"  He's  a  cynic,  you  know,"  the  boy  laughed  to  me  ;  "  and  do 
you  suppose  he  can't  speak  French  ?  He  speaks  like  a  Parisian, 
but  he  is  mimicking  those  Russians  who  are  awfully  fond  of 
talking  aloud  in  French  together  before  other  people,  though 
they  can't  speak  it  themselves.  ..." 

'■  Dans  les  wagons,'"  the  tall  fellow  explained. 

"  To  be  sure,  in  railway  carriages  ;  oh,  what  a  bore  you  are  ! 
There's  no  need  to  explain.  Why  will  you  always  pretend  to 
be  a  fool  ?  " 

Meanwhile  I  took  out  a  rouble  and  offered  it  to  the  tall 
fellow. 

"  Nous  vous  rendons, ^^  said  the  latter,  pocketing  the  rouble  ; 
and  turning  to  the  door  with  a  perfectly  unmoved  and  serious 
face,  he  proceeded  to  kick  it  with  his  huge  coarse  boot  and 
without  the  faintest  sign  of  ill-humour.  .  .  . 

"  Ah,  you  will  be  fighting  with  Lambert  again  1  "  the  boy 
observed  uneasily.     "  You  had  much  better  ring  the  bell !  " 

I  rang  the  bell,  but  the  tall  fellow  continued  kicking  the  door 
nevertheless. 

"  Ah,  sacre  .  .  ."  we  heard  Lambert's  voice  the  other  side  of 
the  door,  and  he  quickly  opened  it. 

"  Dites  done,  voulez-vous  que  je  vous  casse  la  tete,  топ  ami  !  " 
he  shouted  to  the  tall  man. 

"  Mon  ami,  voild  Dolgorowky,  V autre  тюп  ami,^^  the  tall  fellow 
replied  with  dignified  gravity,  staring  at  Lambert,  who  was 
red  with  anger.  As  soon  as  the  latter  saw  me,  he  seemed  suddenly 
transformed. 

"  It's  you,  Arkady  !  At  last !  Then  you  are  better,  better 
are  you  at  last  ?  " 

He  seized  my  hands,  pressing  them  warmly  ;  he  was  in  fact  so 
genuinely  delighted  that  I  felt  pleased  at  once,  and  even  began 
to  like  him. 

424 


"  I've  come  to  you  first  of  all !  '* 

*'  Alphonsine  !  "  cried  Lambert. 

She  instantly  skipped  out  from  behind  the  screen. 

"  Le  voild  !  " 

"  C'est  lui  !  "  cried  Alphonsine,  clasping  and  unclasping  her 
hands ;  she  would  have  rushed  to  embrace  me,  but  Lambert 
protected  me. 

"  There,  there,  there,  down,  down ! "  he  shouted  to  her  as 
though  she  were  a  dog.  "  It's  like  this,  Arkady  :  some  fellows 
have  agreed  to  dine  together  to-day  at  the  Tatars'.  I  shan't 
let  you  go,  you  must  come  with  us.  We'll  have  dinner ;  I'll 
get  rid  of  these  fellows  at  once,  and  then  we  can  have  a 
chat.  Come  in,  come  in  I  We'll  set  off  at  once,  only  wait  a 
minute  .  .  ." 

I  went  in  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  that  room,  looking  about 
me,  and  remembering  it,  Lambert  behind  the  screen  hurriedly 
dressed.  The  tall  fellow  and  his  companion  followed  us  in,  in 
spite  of  Lambert's  words.    We  all  remained  standing. 

"  Mile.  Alphonsine,  voulez-voiis  me  baiser  ?  "  growled  the  tall 
man. 

"  Mile.  Alphonsine"  the  younger  one  was  beginning,  showing 
her  the  tie,  but  she  flew  savagely  at  both  of  them. 

"  Ah,  le  petit  vilain  !  "  she  shouted  to  the  younger  one  ;  "  ne 
tn'approchez  pas,  ne  me  salissez  pas,  et  vous,  le  grand  dadais, 
je  votts  planque  a  la  porte  ious  les  deux,  savez  vous  tela  !  " 

Though  she  warned  him  off  with  contempt  and  disgust,  as 
though  she  were  really  afraid  of  being  soiled  by  contact  with 
him  (which  I  could  not  at  all  understand  because  he  was  such  a 
pretty  fellow,  and  turned  out  to  be  just  aS-  well  dressed  when  he 
took  off  his  overcoat),  the  younger  of  the  two  men  kept  asking 
her  to  tie  his  tall  friend's  cravat  for  him,  and  to  put  him  on  one 
of  Lambert's  clean  collars  first.  She  was  on  the  point  of  beating 
them  in  her  indignation  at  such  a  suggestion,  but  Lambert 
overhearing,  shouted  to  her  behind  the  screen  not  to  hinder 
them,  but  to  do  as  they  asked ;  "  they  won't  leave  off  if  you 
don't,"  he  added,  and  Alphonsine  instantly  produced  a  collar 
and  began  to  fasten  the  tall  man's  cravat  without  the  slightest 
sign  of  disinclination.  The  man  stretched  out  his  neck  just  as 
he  had  done  on  the  stairs,  while  she  tied  his  cravat. 

"  Mile.  Alphonsine,  avez  vous  vendu  voire  bologne  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Qu'est-ce  que  fa,  ma  bologne  ?  '* 

425 


The  younger  man  explained  that  "  ma  bologne  "  meant  a 
lapdug. 

"  Tiens,  quel  est  ce  baragouin  ?  " 

"  Je  paWe  comme  une  dame  russe  sur  les  eaux  minirales,^*  ■ 
observed  le  grand  dadais,  still  with  his  neck  outstretched. 

"  Qu'est-ce  que  fa  qu'une  dame  russe  sur  les  eaux  minerales  et 
.  .  .  ou  est  done  votre  jolie  m,ontre,  que  Lambert  vous  a  donnie" 
she  said  suddenly  to  the  younger  one. 

"  What,  no  watch  again,"  Lambert  chimed  in  irritably  behind 
the  screen. 

"  We've  eaten  it  up  !  "  growled  le  grand  dadais. 

"  L  sold  it  for  eight  roubles  :  it  was  only  silver  gilt,  and  you 
said  it  was  gold ;  so  now  at  the  shop  it's  only  sixteen  roubles," 
the  yoimger  answered  Lambert,  defending  himself  reluctantly. 

"  We  must  put  an  end  to  this  !  "  Lambert  said  even  more 
irritably.  "  I  don't  buy  you  clothes,  my  young  friend,  and  give 
you  good  things,  for  you  to  spend  them  on  your  tall  friend.  .  .  . 
What  was  that  tie  too  that  you  bought  him  ?  " 

"  That  was  only  a  rouble  ;  that  was  not  with  your  money. 
He  had  no  cravat  at  all,  and  he  ought  to  buy  a  hat  too." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  Lambert  was  really  angry.  "  I  gave  him 
enough  for  a  hat  too,  and  he  goes  off  and  wastes  it  on  oysters 
and  champagne.  He  positively  reeks  ;  he's  dirty  and  imtidy  ; 
you  can't  take  him  anywhere.  How  can  I  take  him  out  to 
dinner  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  cad,"  growled  the  dadais.  "  Nov^  avons  un  rouble 
d'argent  que  тюиз  avons  jyrete  chez  notre  nouvel  ami.'^ 

"  Don't  you  give  him  an3rthing,  Arkady,"  Lambert  cried 
again. 

"  Excuse  me,  Lambert ;  I  ask  you  plainly  for  ten  roubles," 
cried  the  boy,  growing  suddenly  angry  and  flushing,  which  made 
him  look  twice  as  handsome  as  before  ;  "  and  don't  ever  dare 
to  say  such  stupid  things  as  you  did  just  now  to  Dolgoruky. 
I  must  have  ten  roubles  to  pay  Dolgoruky  back  that 
rouble  at  once,  and  with  the  rest  I'll  buy  Andreyev  a  hat, 
so  you  see." 

Lambert  came  out  from  behind  the  screen  ; 

"  Here  are  three  yellow  notes,  and  three  roubles,  and  there's 
nothing  more  till  Tuesday,  and  don't  dare  ...  or  else.  .      ." 

Le  grand  dadais  fairly  snatched  the  money  from  him. 

"  Dolgorowky,  here  is  the  rouble  nous  vous  rendons  avec 
beaucoup  de  grdce.     Petya,  come  along  !  "  he  called  to  his  com- 

426 


panion.  Then  holding  up  the  two  notes  and  waving  them  in 
the  air,  while  he  stared  fixedly  at  Lambert,  he  yelled  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  : 

"  Ohe  Lambert  !    Ой  est  Lambert,  as-tu  vu  Lambert  ?  " 

"  How  dare  you,  how  dare  you,"  Lambert  yelled  too,  in 
terrible  wrath  :  I  saw  that  underlying  all  this  was  something 
in  the  paust  of  which  1  knew  nothing,  and  I  looked  on  in  astonish- 
ment. But  the  tall  fellow  was  not  in  the  least  alarmed  by 
Lambert's  wrath  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  yelled  louder  than  ever  : 
"  Ohe  Lambert !  "  and  so  on.  And  so  shouting,  they  went  out 
on  the  stairs.  Lambert  was  rimning  after  them,  but  he  turned 
back. 

"  I'll  throw  them  out  by  the  scr-r-ruff  of  their  necks  !  They 
cost  more  than  they  are  worth.  .  .  .  Come  along,  Arkady  !  I'm 
late.  I  am  expected  there  by  another  .  .  .  fellow  I  need  .  .  . 
a  beast  too.  .  .  .  They're  all  beasts  !  A  low  lot,  a  low  lot  1  " 
he  shouted  again,  almost  gnashing  his  teeth  ;  but  all  at  once  he 
recovered  himself  completely. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come  at  last.  Alphonsine,  not  a 
step  out  of  the  house  !     Let  us  go." 

At  the  steps  a  smart  tum-out  was  waiting  for  him.  We  got 
in  ;  but  all  the  way  he  could  not  quito  regain  his  composure 
and  get  over  a  sort  of  rage  agamst  the  two  young  men.  I  was 
surprised  at  his  taking  it  so  seriously  ;  and  what's  more,  at 
their  being  so  disrespectful  to  Lambert,  and  his  seeming  almost 
frightened  of  them. 

From  the  old  impression  that  had  been  stamped  on  me  from 
childhood,  it  stiU  seemed  to  me  that  every  one  must  be  afraid  of 
Lambert,  as  ш  spite  of  all  my  independence,  I  certainly  stood 
in  awe  of  him  myself  at  that  moment, 

"  I  tell  you  now  they  are  all  a  low  lot,"  Lambert  persisted. 
"  Would  you  believe  it  that  tall  ruffian  pestered  me,  the  day 
before  yesterday,  in  decent  company.  He  stood  in  front  of  me 
and  shouted  :  '  Ohe  Lambert !  '  in  decent  company  !  Ever>' 
one  laughed,  and  do  you  know,  it  was  for  me  to  give  him  money 
— would  3'ou  believe  it.  I  gave  it  him.  Oh,  that — r-r-ruffian  ! 
Would  you  believe  it  ?  He  was  an  ensign  in  a  regiment,  but  he 
was  kicked  out,  and,  you  wouldn't  imagine  it,  but  he  is  a  man  of 
education  :  he  was  brought  up  in  a  good  family,  you  would 
hardly  beheve  it !  He  has  ideas,  he  might  .  .  .  and  damn  it 
all !  And  he  is  a  perfect  Hercules.  He  is  of  use,  though  of  not 
much  use.    And  you  can  see  he  does  not  wash  his  hands.    I 

427 


interested  a  lady  in  his  ease,  an  old  ladj'  of  very  good  position, 
telling  her  that  he  was  penitent,  and  on  the  point  of  committing 
suicide  from  remorse,  and  he  went  to  see  her,  sat  down  and 
began  whistling.  And  the  other,  the  pretty  fellow,  is  a  general's 
son  ;  his  family  is  ashamed  of  him.  I  got  him  off  when  he  was 
arrested,  I  saved  him,  and  you  see  how  he  repays  me.  There 
are  no  jDeople  worth  their  salt  here  1  I'll  pay  them  out,  I'll  pay 
them  out  !  " 

"  They  know  my  name  ;   did  you  talk  to  them  about  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  stupid  of  me.  Please  stay  on  a  little  after  dinner, 
control  your  feelings.  .  .  .  There's  an  awful  canaille  coming. 
Yes,  he"s  an  awful  canaille,  and  awfully  cimning  ;  they  are  all 
rascals  here,  there's  not  an  honest  man  about !  Well,  we'll 
finish — then.  .  ,  What's  your  favourite  dish  ?  But  it  doesn't 
matter,  the  fare  is  always  good.  I'll  pay,  don't  you  worry.  It's 
a  good  thing  you  are  well  dressed.  I  can  give  you  money. 
You  must  come  often.  Only  fancy,  I've  stood  them  meat  and 
drink  here,  it's  fish  pie  every  day  of  the  week  ;  that  watch  he 
sold — it's  the  second  time.  That  little  fellow,  Trishatov,  you 
saw  hiia  ;  Alphonsine  is  sick  at  the  very  sight  of  him,  and  won't 
let  him  come  near  her ;  and  here  in  the  presence  of  officers  he 
calls  out  :  '  I  must  have  woodcock.'  I  stood  him  woodcock  ! 
But  I'll  pay  them  out." 

"  Do  you  remember,  Lambert,  how  we  went  to  a  restaurant 
together  in  INloscow,  and  you  stuck  a  fork  into  me,  and  how  you 
had  fifty  roubles  then  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  !  Damn  it,  I  remember  !  I  like  you  .  .  . 
you  may  believe  it.  Nobody  likes  you  ;  but  I  like  you  ;  I'm 
the  only  one  that  does,  you  remember  that.  .  .  .  The  pock- 
marked fellow  that  is  coming  here  is  a  cunnmg  canaille  ;  don't 
you  answer  any  of  his  questions  ;  if  he  begins  talking,  it's  all  right ; 
but  if  he  begins  questioning,  make  some  nonsensical  answer,  or 
hold  youi-  tongue." 

At  any  rate,  in  his  exciteme'nt  he  did  not  question  me  much 
on  the  way.  I  even  felt  insulted  at  his  having  such  confidence 
in  me,  and  not  even  suspecting  that  I  mistrusted  him  ;  I  fancied 
that  I  detected  in  him  the  absurd  idea  that  he  could  still  order 
me  about.  "  And  what's  more,  he's  awfully  ignorant  and  ill- 
bred,"  I  thought,  as  1  went  into  the  restaiu'ant. 


428 


I  had  been  into  that  restaurant,  in  the  Morskaya,  before,  during 
my  disgraceful  period  of  degradation  and  depravity,  and  so  the 
impression  of  those  rooms,  of  those  lackeys  looking  at  me,  and 
recognizing  me  as  a  familiar  visitor,  and  finally  the  impression 
made  on  me  by  the  mysterious  company  of  Lambert's  friends, 
amongst  whom  I  fovmd  myself  so  suddenly,  and  to  whom  I 
seemed  already  to  belong,  and  above  all  an  obscure  feeling 
that  of  my  own  freewill  I  was  going  into  something  abominable, 
and  that  I  should  certainly  end  up  by  doing  something  horrid — 
all  this  seemed  to  go  through  me  in  a  flash.  There  was  a  moment 
when  I  very  nearly  went  away  ;  but  the  moment  passed  and  I 
remained. 

The  "  pock-marked  man,"  of  whom  for  some  reason  Lambert 
was  so  much  afraid,  was  already  waiting  for  us.  He  was  one 
of  those  men  of  stupidly  practical  appearance,  whom  I  have 
always  from  my  childhood  detested  ;  he  was  about  forty-five, 
of  middle  height,  with  hair  just  turning  grey.  He  was  disgust- 
ingly close-shaven,  except  for  two  little  neatly  trimmed  grey 
whiskers,  like  sausages,  one  on  each  side  of  his  extremely  flat 
and  spiteful-looking  face.  He  was  of  course  dull,  solemn,  and 
taciturn,  and  even  conceited,  as  such  nonentities  always  are. 
He  looked  at  me  very  attentively,  but  he  did  not  say  a  word. 
Lambert  was  so  stupid  that  though  he  sat  us  down  at  the  same 
table  together,  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  introduce  us,  and 
so  he  may  well  have  taken  me  for  one  of  the  blackmailers 
associated  with  Lambert.  To  the  two  young  men  (who  arrived 
almost  simultaneously  with  us)  he  did  not  address  a  single  word 
during  the  whole  of  dinner,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  knew  them 
well.  He  talked  only  to  Lambert,  and  then  almost  in  a  Avhisper, 
and  indeed  Lambert  did  most  of  the  talking,  and  the  pock-marked 
man  confined  himself  to  fragmentary  and  wrathful  ejaculations, 
which  sounded  like  an  ultimatum.  He  behaved  superciliously, 
was  ill-humoured  and  sarcastic,  while  Lambert  on  the  other 
hand  was  extremely  excited  and  was  evidently  trying  to  persuade 
him  all  the  time,  probably  urging  him  on  to  some  undertaking. 
On  one  occasion  I  put  out  my  hand  to  take  a  bottle  of  red  wine  ; 
the  pock-marked  man  immediately  took  a  bottle  of  sherry  and 
handed  it  to  me,  though  he  had  not  said  a  word  to  me  till  then. 

429 


"  Try  this,"  he  said,  offering  me  the  bottle.  I  guessed,  on  the 
spot,  that  he  too,  knew  everything  in  the  world  about  me — my 
story,  and  my  name,  and  perhaps  the  fact  that  Lambert  was 
counting  upon  me.  The  idea  that  he  was  taking  me  for  a 
satellite  maddened  me  again,  and  Lambert's  face  betrayed  an 
intense  and  very  stupid  uneasiness  when  the  pock-marked  man 
addressed  me  ;  the  latter  noticed  it  and  laughed.  "  There's  no 
doubt  that  Lambert  depends  on  all  of  them,"  I  thought,  hating 
him  at  that  instant  with  my  whole  soul.  In  this  way,  though 
we  were  sitting  at  the  same  table,  throughout  the  whole  dinner 
we  were  divided  into  two  groups  ;  the  pock-marked  man  with 
Lambert,  facing  each  other  close  to  the  window,  while  I  was 
beside  the  grubby  Andreyev,  and  Trishatov  sat  facing  me. 
Lambert  hurried  on  the  dinner,  continually  urging  the  waiters 
to  make  haste  with  the  dishes.  When  the  champagne  was 
brought  he  held  out  his  glass  to  me  : 

"  To  your  health,  let's  clink  glasses  !  "  he  said,  breaking  off  his 
conversation  with  the  pock-marked  man. 

"  And  will  you  let  me  clink  with  you  too  1  "  said  the  pretty 
youth,  holding  out  his  glass  across  the  table.  Till  the  champagne 
arrived  he  had  been  very  silent,  and  seemed  pensive.  The 
dadais  said  nothing  at  all,  but  sat  silent  and  ate  a  great  deal. 

"  With  pleasure,"  I  answered  Trishatov.  We  clinked  glasses 
and  drank. 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  drink  your  health,"  observed  the 
dadais  turning  to  me  ;  "  not  because  I  desire  your  death,  but 
so  that  you  may  not  drink  any  more  here  to-day."  He  spoke 
gloomily  and  ponderously.  "  Three  glasses  is  enough  for  you. 
I  see  you  are  looking  at  my  imwashed  fist !  "  he  went  on,  putting 
his  fist  on  the  table.  "  I  don't  wash  it,  but  as  it  is  I  put  it  at 
Lambert's  service  for  smashing  other  people's  heads  when  he's 
in  a  tight  place."  And  saying  this  he  brought  down  his  fist  on 
the  table  with  such  force  that  he  set  all  the  plates  and  glasses 
rattling.  Besides  us  there  were  people  dining  at  foiur  other 
tables,  all  of  them  officers  or  gentlemen  of  dignified  appearance. 
It  was  a  fashionable  restaurant ;  all  broke  off  their  conversation 
for  a  moment  and  looked  round  to  our  comer ;  and  indeed  I 
fancied  we  had  attracted  curiosity  for  some  time  past.  Lambert 
flushed  crimson. 

"Ah,  he's  at  it  again  !  I  thought  I  had  asked  you  to  behave 
yourself,  Nikolay  Semyonovitch,"  he  said  to  Andreyev  in  a 
furious  whisper.    The  latter  gave  him  a  prolonged  stare. 

430 


"  I  don't  want  my  new  friend  Dolgorowky  to  drink  a  great 
deal  here  to-daз^" 

Lambert  flushed  more  hotly  than  ever. 

The  pock-marked  man  listened  in  silence  but  with  evident 
pleasure.  Andreyev's  behaviour  seemed  to  please  him,  for 
some  reason.  I  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  understand  why 
I  was  not  to  drink  much  wine. 

"  He  says  that  because  he's  only  just  had  some  money  ! 
You  shall  have  another  seven  roubles  directly  after  dinner — 
only  do  let  us  have  dinner,  don't  disgrace  lis,"  Lambert  hissed 
at  him. 

"  Aha !  "  the  dadais  growled  triumphantly.  At  this  the 
pock-marked  man  was  absolutely  delighted,  and  he  sniggered 
spitefully. 

"  Listen,  you  really  .  .  ."  began  Trishatov  to  his  friend  with 
imeasiness  and  almost  distress  in  his  voice,  evidently  anxious  to 
restrain  him.  Andreyev  subsided,  but  not  for  long  ;  that  was 
not  his  intention.  Just  across  the  table,  five  paces  from  ue, 
two  gentleman  were  dining,  engaged  in  lively  conversation. 
Both  were  middle-aged  gentleman,  who  looked  extremely 
conscious  of  their  own  dignity  ;  one  was  tall  and  very  stout,  the 
other  was  also  very  stout  but  short,  they  were  discussing  in 
Polish  the  events  of  the  day  in  Paris.  For  some  time  past  the 
dadais  had  been  watching  them  inquisitively  and  listening  to 
their  talk.  The  short  Pole  evidently  struck  him  as  a  comic 
iigvure,  and  he  promptly  conceived  an  aversion  for  him  after 
the  manner  of  envious  and  splenetic  people,  who  often  take  such 
sudden  dislikes  for  no  reason  whatever.  Suddenly  the  short 
Pole  pronounced  the  name  of  the  deputy,  Madier  de  Montjeau, 
but,  as  so  many  Poles  do,  he  pronounced  it  with  an  accent  on 
the  syllable  before  the  last,  instead  of  on  the  last  syllable  ;  this 
was  enough  for  the  dadais,  he  turned  to  the  Poles,  and  drawing 
up  himself  with  dignity,  he  suddenly  articulated  loudly  and 
distinctly  as  though  addressing  a  question  to  them  : 

"  Madier  de  Montjeau  ?  " 

The  Poles  turned  to  him  savagely. 

"  What  do  you  want  1  "  the  tall  stout  Pole  shouted  threaten- 
ingly to  him  in  Russian. 

The  dadais  paused.  "  Madier  de  Montjeau,"  he  repeated 
suddenly  again,  to  be  heard  by  the  whole  room,  giving  no  sort 
of  explanation,  just  as  he  had  stupidly  set  upon  me  at  the  door 
with  the  reiterated  question  "  Dolgorowky."     The  Poles  jumped 

431 


up  from  their  seats,  Lambert  leapt  up  from  the  table  and  rushed 
to  Andreyev,  but  leaving  him,  darted  up  to  the  Poles  and  began 
making  cringing  apologies  to  them. 

"  They  are  buffoons,  Pani,  they  are  buffoons,"  the  little  Pole 
repeated  contemptuously,  as  red  as  a  carrot  with  indignation. 
"  Soon  it  will  be  impossible  to  come  !  "  There  was  a  stir  all  over 
the  room  too,  and  a  murmur  of  disapproval,  though  laughter 
was  predominant. 

"  Come  out  .  .  .  please  .  .  .  come  along ! "  Lambert 
muttered  completely  disconcerted,  doing  his  utmost  to  get 
Andreyev  out  of  the  room.  The  latter  looking  searchingly  at 
Lamljert,  and  judging  that  he  would  now  give  the  money,  agreed 
to  follow  him.  Probably  he  had  already  extorted  money  from 
Lambert  by  the  same  kind  of  disgraceful  behaviour,  Trishatov 
seemed  about  to  run  after  them  too,  but  he  looked  at  me  and 
checked  himself. 

"  Ach,  how  horrid,"  he  said  hiding  his  eyes  with  his  slender 
fingers. 

"  Very  horrid,"  whispered  the  pock-marked  man,  looking 
really  angry  at  last. 

Meanwliile  Lambert  came  back  looking  quite  pale,  and  gesticu- 
lating eagerly,  began  whispering  something  to  the  pock-marked 
man.  The  latter  listened  disdainfully,  and  meanwhile  ordered 
the  waiter  to  make  haste  with  the  coffee  ;  he  was  evidently  in  a 
hurry  to  get  off.  And  yet  the  whole  affair  had  only  been  a 
schoolboyish  prank.  Trishatov  got  up  with  his  cup  of  coffee, 
and  came  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  him,"  he  said  to  me  with  a  face  as  open 
as  though  he  had  been  talking  to  me  like  this  all  his  life.  "  You 
can't  imagine  how  unhappy  Andreyev  is.  He  has  wasted 
all  his  sister's  dowry  on  eating  and  drinking,  and  in  fact  all 
they  had  he  spent  on  eating  and  drinking  during  the  year  he 
was  in  the  service,  and  I  see  now  he  worries.  And  as  for  his  not 
washing,  it's  just  through  despair.  And  he  has  awfully  strange 
ideas  :  he'll  tell  j'ou  all  of  a  sudden  that  he's  both  a  scoundrel 
and  an  honest  man — that  it's  all  the  same  and  no  difference  : 
and  that  there's  no  need  to  do  anything,  either  good  or  bad, 
they  are  just  the  same,  one  may  do  good  or  bad,  but  that  the 
best  of  all  is  to  be  still,  not  taking  off  one's  clothes  for  a  month 
at  a  time,  to  eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep — and  nothing  else.  But 
believe  me,  he  only  says  that.  And  do  you  кполу,  I  really 
beheve  he  played  the  fool  like  this  just  now  to  break  off  with 

432 


Lambert  once  for  all.  He  spoke  of  it  yesterday.  Would  you 
believe  it,  sometimes  at  night  or  when  he  has  been  sitting  long 
alone,  he  begins  to  cry,  and,  do  you  know,  when  he  cries,  it's 
different  from  anyone  else  ;  he  howls,  he  howls  in  an  awful  w'oy, 
and  you  know  it's  even  more  pitiful  .  .  .  and  he's  such  a  big 
strong  fellow,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden — to  see  him  howling.  It 
is  sad,  poor  fellow,  isn't  it  ?  I  want  to  save  him,  though  I  am 
a  wretched  hopeless  scamp  myself,  you  wouldn't  believe.  Will 
you  let  me  in,  Dolgoruky,  if  I  ever  come  and  see  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  do  come,  I  really  hke  you." 

"  What  for  ?  Well,  thank  you.  Listen,  will  you  drink  an- 
other glass  ?  But  after  all  you'd  better  not.  He  was  right 
when  he  said  you  had  better  not  drink  any  more,"  he  suddenly 
gave  me  a  significant  wink,  "  but  I'll  drink  it  all  the  same.  I 
have  nothing  now,  but  would  you  believe  it,  I  can't  hold  mj^self 
back  in  anything;  if  you  were  to  tell  me  I  must  not  dine  at  a 
restaurant  again,  I  should  be  ready  to  do  anything,  simply  to 
dine  there.  Oh,  we  genuinely  want  to  be  honest,  I  assure  you, 
but  we  keep  putting  it  off, 

"  Andr  the  years  pass  by  and  the  best  of  our  years  ! 

"  I  am  awfully  afraid  that  he  will  hang  himself.  He'll  go  and  do 
it  without  telling  anyone.  He's  like  that.  They  are  all  hanging 
themselves  nowadays  ;  why,  I  don't  know — perhaps  there  are  a 
great  many  people  like  us.  I,  for  instance,  can't  exist  without 
money  to  spend.  Luxuries  matter  a  great  deal  more  to  mc 
than  necessities. 

"  I  say,  are  you  fond  of  music  ?  I'm  awfully  fond  of  it.  I'll 
play  you  something  when  I  come  and  see  you.  I  play  very 
well  on  the  piano  and,  I  studied  music  a  very  long  time.  I've 
studied  seriously.  If  I  were  to  compose  an  opera,  do  you  know 
I  should  take  the  subject  from  Faust.  I  am  very  fond  of  that 
subject.  I  am  always  making  up  a  scene  in  the  cathedral, 
just  imagining  it  in  my  head,  I  mean.  The  Gothic  cathedral, 
the  interior,  the  choirs,  the  hymns ;  Gretchcn  enters,  and 
mediaeval  singing,  you  know,  so  that  you  can  hear  the  fifteenth 
century  in  it.  Gretchen  overwhelmed  with  grief ;  to  begin  with 
a  recitative,  subdued  but  terrible,  full  of  anguish;  the  choiis 
thunder  on,  gloomily,  sterni}',  callously, 

"  Dies  irae,  dies  ilia  / 

"And  all  of  a  sudden — the  voice  of  the  devil,  the  song  of  the 

433 


devil.  He  is  unseen,  there  is  only  his  song,  side  by  side  with 
the  hymns,  mingling  with  the  hymns,  almost  melting  into  them, 
but  at  the  same  time  quite  diflferent  from  them — that  must  be 
managed  somehow.  The  song  is  prolonged,  persistent,  it  must 
be  a  tenor,  it  must  be  a  tenor.  It  begins  softly,  tenderly  :  '  Do 
you  remember,  Gretchen,  when  you  were  innocent,  when  you 
were  a  child,  you  came  with  your  mother  to  this  cathedral  and 
lisped  your  prayers  from  an  old  prayer-book  ? '  But  the  song 
gets  louder  and  louder,  more  intense  ;  on  higher  notes  :  there's 
a  sound  of  tears  in  them,  misery  unceasing,  and  hopoless,  and 
finally  despair.  'There's  no  forgiveness,  Gretchen,  there's  no 
forgiveness  for  you  here  ! '  Gretchen  tries  to  pray,  but  only 
cries  of  misery  rise  up  from  her  soul — ^you  know  Avhen  the  breast 
is  convulsed  with  tears — -but  Satan's  song  never  ceases,  and 
pierces  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  soul  like  a  spear  ;  it  gets  higher 
and  higher,  and  suddenly  breaks  off  almost  in  a  shriek  :  '  The 
end  to  all,  accursed  one  !  '  Gretchen  falls  on  her  knees,  clasps 
her  hands  before  hor — and  then  comes  her  prayer,  something 
very  short,  semi-recitative,  but  naive,  entirely  without  ornament, 
something  mcdijBval  in  the  extreme,  four  lines,  only  four  lines 
altogether — Stradella  has  some  such  notes — and  at  the  last  note 
she  swoons  !  General  confusion.  She  is  picked  up,  carried  out, 
and  then  the  choir  thunders  forth.  It  is,  as  it  were,  a  storm  of 
voices,  a  hymn  of  inspiration,  of  victory,  overwhelming,  some- 
thing in  the  style  of  our 

'  Borne  on  hirjh  by  angels  ' 

— so  that  everything  is  shaken  to  its  foundations,  and  it  all 
passes  into  the  triumphant  cry  of  exaltation  *  Hosanna  ! ' — ^as 
though  it  were  the  cry  of  the  whole  universe  and  it  rises  and 
rises,  and  then  the  curtain  falls  !  Yes,  you  know  if  only  I  could, 
I  should  have  done  something  ;  only  I  can  never  do  anything 
now,  I  do  nothing  but  dream.  I  am  always  dreaming  ;  my 
whole  life  has  turned  into  a  dream.  I  dream  at  night  too.  Ah, 
Dolgoruky,  have  you  read  Dickens'  '  Old  Curiosity  Shop  '  ?  " 

"  Yes,  why  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember — wait,  I  will  have  another  glass — do 
you  remember,  there's  one  passage  at  the  end,  when  they — 
that  mad  old  man  and  that  charming  girl  of  thirteen,  his  grand- 
child, take  refuge  after  their  fantastic  flight  and  wandering  in 
some  remote  place  in  England,  near  a  Gothic  mediaeval  church, 
and  the  Uttle  girl  has  received  some  post  there,  and  shows  the 

434 


church  to  visitors  .  .  .  then  the  sun  is  setting,  and  the  child  in 
the  church  porch,  bathed  in  the  last  rays  of  light,  stands  and 
gazes  at  the  sunset,  with  gentle  pensive  contemplation  in  her 
child  soul,  a  soul  full  of  wonder  as  though  before  some  mystery, 
for  both  alike  are  mysteries,  the  sun,  the  thought  of  God,  and 
the  church,  the  thought  of  man,  aren't  they  ?  Oh,  I  don't 
know  how  to  express  it,  only  God  loves  such  first  thoughts  in 
children.  .  .  .  While  near  her,  on  the  step,  the  crazy  old  grand- 
father gazes  at  her  with  a  fixed  look  .  .  .  you  know  there's 
nothing  special  in  it,  in  that  picture  of  Dickens,  there's  absolutely 
nothing  in  it,  but  yet  one  will  remember  it  all  one's  life,  and  it 
has  survived  for  all  Europe — why  ?  It's  splendid  !  It's  the 
innocence  in  it !  And  I  don't  know  what  there  is  in  it,  but  it's 
fine.  I  used  always  to  be  reading  novels  when  I  was  at  school. 
Do  you  know  I  had  a  sister  in  the  country  only  a  year  older  than 
me.  .  .  .  Oh,  now  it's  all  sold,  and  we  have  no  country-place  1 
I  was  sitting  with  her  on  the  terrace  under  our  old  lime  trees, 
we  were  reading  that  novel,  and  the  sun  was  setting  too,  and 
suddenly  we  left  off  reading,  and  said  to  one  another  that  we 
would  be  kind  too,  that  we  would  be  good — I  was  then  preparing 
for  the  university  and  .  .  .  Ach,  Dolgoruky,  you  кполу,  every 
man  has  his  memories  !  .  .  ." 

And  he  suddenly  let  his  pretty  li"^tle  head  fall  on  my  shoulder 
and  burst  out  crying.  I  felt  very  very  sorry  for  him.  It  is  true 
that  he  had  drunk  a  great  deal  of  wine,  but  he  had  talked  to  me 
so  sincerely,  so  like  a  brother,  with  such  feeling.  .  .  .  Suddenly, 
at  that  instant,  we  heard  a  shout  from  the  street,  and  there  was  a 
violent  tapping  at  the  window  (there  was  a  large  plate-glass  window 
on  the  ground  floor,  so  that  anyone  could  tap  on  the  window 
with  his  fingers  from  the  street).     This  was  the  ejected  Andreyev. 

"  ОЛё  Lambert!  Ou  est  Lambert?  As-tu  vu  Lambert?"  we 
heard  his  wild  shout  in  the  street. 

"  Ah  !  yes,  here  he  is  !  So  he's  not  gone  away  ?  "  cried  the 
boy,  jumping  up  from  his  place. 

"  Our  account  !  "  Lambert  cried  through  his  clenched  teeth 
to  the  waiter.  His  hands  shook  with  anger  as  he  paid  the  bill, 
but  the  pock-marked  man  did  not  allow  Lambert  to  pay  for  him, 

"  Why  not  ?   Why,  I  invited  you,  you  accepted  my  invitation." 

**  No,  excuse  me,"  the  pock-marked  man  pulled  out  his  purse, 
and  reckoning  out  his  share  he  paid  separately. 

"  You'll  offend  me,  Semyoh  Sidorovitch." 

"  That's  what  I  wish,"   Semyon  Sidorovitch  snapped   out, 

435 


taking  his  hat,  and  without  saying  good-bye  to  anybody,  he 
vialkcd  alone  out  of  the  room.  Lambert  tossed  the  money  to 
the  waiter  and  hurriedly  ran  after  him,  .even  forgetting  my 
existence  in  his  confusion.  Trishatov  and  I  walked  out  last  of 
all.  Andreyev  was  standing  like  a  post  at  the  door,  waiting  for 
Tri.shatov. 

"  You  scoundrel !  "  cried  Lambert,  unable  to  restrain  himself. 
"  There,  there  !  "  Andreyev  grunted  at  him,  and  with  one  swing 
of  his  arm  he  knocked  otf  his  round  hat,  which  went  spinning 
along  the  pavement.     Lambert  flew  abjectly  to  pick  it  up. 

"  Ving-cinq  rqjibles  !  "  Andreyev  showed  Tri.shatov  the  note, 
which  he  had  just  got  from  Lambert. 

'  That's  enough,"  Trishatov  shouted  to  him.  "  Why  must  you 
always  make  an  uproar  ?  .  .  .  And  why  have  you  wrung  twenty- 
five  roubles  out  of  him  ?     You  only  ought  to  have  had  seven." 

"  Why  did  I  wring  it  out  of  him  ?  He  promised  us  a  private 
dinner  with  Athenian  women,  and  instead  of  women  he  regaled 
us  with  the  pock-marked  man,  and  Avhat's  more,  I  did  not  finish 
my  dinner  and  I've  been  freezing  here  in  the  cold,  it's  certainly 
worth  eighteen  roubles.  He  owed  me  seven,  so  that  makes 
twenty-five." 

"  Go  to  the  devil  both  of  you  !  "  yelled  Lambert.  "  I'll  send 
you  both  packing,  I'll  pay  you  out  .  .  ." 

"  Lambert,  111  send  you  packing.  I'll  pay  you  out  !  "  cried 
Andreyev.  "  Adieu,  топ  prince,  don't  drink  au}'  more  wine  ! 
Petya,  marche !  Ohe  Lambert/  Oh  est  Laynba-t?  As-tu  vu 
Lambert  ?  "  he  roared  for  the  last  time  as  he  strode  away. 

"  So  I  shall  come  and  see  you,  may  I  ?  "  Trishatov  murmured 
hurriedly,  and  hastened  after  his  friend. 

I  was  left  alone  with  Lambert. 

"  Well  .  .  .  come  along  !  "  he  brought  out,  seeming  stupefied 
and  breathing  with  difficulty. 

"  Where  shall  I  come  along  ?  I'm  not  coming  anywhere  wuth 
you  !  "  I  made  haste  to  reply  defiantly. 

"  You're  not  coming,"  he  said,  startled  and  apprehensive. 
"  Why,  I  have  only  been  waiting  for  us  to  be  alone  !  " 

"  But  where  to  go  ?  "  I  must  confess  I,  too,  had  a  slight  ringing 
in  my  head,  from  the  three  glasses  of  champagne  and  the  two 
wine-glasses  of  sherry  I  had  drunk. 

"  This  way,  tliis  wa3'.     Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  But  this  is  an  oyster  bar  r  you  see  it  is  written  up.  It  smells 
80  horrid  ..." 


"That's  only  because  you  have  just  had  dinner.  We  won't 
have  oysters,  but  I'll  give  you  some  champagne.   .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  want  any  !     You  want  to  make  me  drunk." 

"  That's  what  the\'  told  j'ou  ;  they've  been  laughing  at  you. 
You  believe  blackguards  like  that  !  " 

"  No,  Trishatov's  not  a  blackguard.  But  I  know  hovv  to  take 
care  of  myself — that's  all  !  " 

"  So  you've  a  will  of  your  own,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  character ;  more  than  3'ou  have,  for  3'ou're 
servile  to  everybody  j-ou  meet.  You  disgraced  us,  you  btgged 
pardon  of  the  Poles  like  a  lackey.  1  suppose  you've  often  been 
beaten  in  restaurants  ?  " 

"  But  Ave  must  have  a  talk,  you  fool  !  "  he  cried  with  the  same 
contemptuous  impatience,  which  almost  implied,  what  are 
you  driving  at  ?  "  VVhy,  you  are  afraid,  aren't  you  ?  Are  you 
my  friend  or  not  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  your  friend  and  you  are  a  swindler.  We'll  go  along 
simply  to  show  you  I'm  not  afraid  of  you.  Oh,  what  a  horrid 
smell,  it  smells  of  cheese  !     How  disgusting  1  " 


CHAPTER  VI 

I 

I  MUST  beg  the  reader  to  remember  again  that  I  had  a  slight 
giddiness  in  my  head  ;  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  I  should  have 
acted  and  spoken  differently.  In  the  shop,  in  a  back  room,  one 
could  indeed  have  eaten  oysters,  and  we  sat  down  to  a  table 
covered  with  a  filthy  cloth.  Lambert  ordered  champagne  ;  a 
glass  of  cold  wine  of  a  golden  colour  was  set  before  me  and  seemed 
looking  at  me  invitingly  ;  but  I  felt  annoyed. 

"  You  see,  Lambert,  what  annoys  me  most  is  that  you  think 
you  can  order  me  about  now  as  you  used  to  do  at  Touchard's, 
while  you  are  cringing  upon  everybody  here." 

"  You  fool  !     Aie,  let's  clink  glas.scs." 

"  You  don't  even  deign  to  keep  up  appearances  with  me  :  you 
might  at  least  disguise  the  fact  that  you  want  to  make  me  drunk." 

"  You  arc  talking  rot  and  you're  drunk.  You  must  drink 
some  more  and  you'll  be  more  cheerful.  Take  your  glass,  take  it !  " 

"  Why  do  you  keep  on  "  take  it'  ?  I  am  going  and  that's  the 
end  of  it." 

437 


And  I  really  did  get  up.    He  was  awfully  vexed  : 

"  It  was  Trishatov  whispered  that  to  j'ou  :  I  saw  you  whisper- 
ing. You  are  a  fool  for  that.  AJphonsine  is  really  disgusted  if 
he  goes  near  her,  .  .  .  He's  a  dirty  beast,  I'll  tell  you  what  he's 
like." 

"  Y6u've  told  me  already.  You  can  talk  of  nothing  but  your 
Alphonsine,  you're  frightfully  Umited." 

"  Limited  ?  "  he  did  not  understand.  "They've  gone  over  now 
1o  that  pock-marked  fellow.  That's  what  it  is  !  That's  why  I 
sent  them  about  their  business.  They're  dishonest.  That 
fellow's  a  blackguard  and  he's  corrupting  them.  I  insisted  that 
they  should  always  behave  decently." 

1  sat  still  and  as  it  were  mechanically  took  my  glass  and 
drank  a  draught. 

"  I'm  ever  so  far  ahead  of  you  in  education,"  I  said.  But  he 
was  only  too  delighted  that  I  went  on  sitting  there,  and  at  once 
filled  up  my  glass. 

"  And  you  know  you're  afraid  of  them  !  "  I  went  on  taunting 
him,  and  no  doubt  I  was  even  nastier  than  he  was  at  that  moment. 
"  Andreyev  knocked  your  hat  off,  and  you  gave  him  twenty-five 
roubles  for  it." 

"  I  did  give  it  him,  but  he'll  pay  me  back.  They  are  rebellious, 
but  I'll  be  quits  with  them." 

"  You  are  awfully  upset  by  that  pock-marked  man.  And  do 
you  know  it  strikes  me  that  I'm  the  only  one  left  you.  All  your 
hopes  now  are  resting  on  me — aren't  they  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Arkasha,  that  is  so  :  j'ou  are  the  only  friend  left  me  ; 
you  are  right  in  saying  that !  "  he  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder. 

What  could  be  done  with  a  man  so  crude  ;  he  was  utterly 
obtuse,  and  took  irony  for  serious  praise. 

"  You  could  save  me  from  bad  things  if  you  would  be  a  good 
comrade,  Arkady,"  he  went  on,  looking  at  me  caressingly. 

"  In  what  way  could  I  save  you  ?  " 

"  You  know  yourself  what  it  is.  Without  me,  like  a  fool,  you 
will  certainly  be  stupid  ;  but  I'd  get  you  thirty  thousand  and  we 
would  go  halves  and  you  know  how.  W^y,  think  who  you  are  ; 
you're  nothing — no  name,  no  position,  and  here  you'd  win  first 
prize  straight  off  :  and  having  such  a  fortune,  you'll  know  how  to 
make  a  career  !  " 

I  was  simply  astoxmded  at  this  attack.  I  had  taken  for  granted 
that  he  would  dissemble,  but  he  had  begun  upon  it  with  such 
bluntness,  such  schoolboyish  bluntness.     I  resolved  to  listen  to 

438 


him  from  a  desire  to  be  open-minded  and  .  .  .  from  intense 
curiosity. 

"  Look  here,  Lambert,  you  won't  understand  this,  but  I'm 
consenting  to  Usten  to  you  because  I'm  open-minded,"  I  declared 
firmly,  and  again  I  took  a  gulp  at  my  glass.  Lambert  at  once 
filled  it  up. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Arkady  :  if  a  fellow  like  Buring  had 
dared  to  abuse  me  and  strike  me  in  the  presence  of  a  lady  I 
adored,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  !  But  you  put  up 
with  it,  I'm  ashamed  of  you  :   you're  a  poor  creature  !  " 

"  How  dare  you  say  that  Buring  struck  me  !  "  I  shouted, 
turning  crimson.    "  It  was  more  I  struck  him  than  he  me." 

"  No,  it  was  he  struck  you,  not  you  struck  him." 

"  You're  lying,  I  trod  on  Ids  foot  too  !  " 

"  But  he  shoved  you  back,  and  told  the  footman  to  drag  you 
away  .  .  .  and  she  sat  and  looked  on  from  her  carriage  and 
laughed  at  you  ;  she  knows  that  you  have  no  father  and  that  3'ou 
can  be  insulted." 

"  I  don't  understand  this  schoolboyish  conversation,  Lambert. 
and  I'm  ashamed  of  it.  You  are  saying  this  to  irritate  me,  and 
as  crudely  and  as  openly  as  though  I  were  a  boy  of  sixteen. 
You've  been  plotting  with  Anna  i^ndre^^evna  !  "  I  cried,  trcmbhng 
with  anger,  and  still  mechanically  sipj)ing  my  wine. 

"  Aima  Andreyevna's  a  sly  jade  !  She's  huml)ugging  you  and 
me  and  all  the  world  !  I  have  been  waiting  for  you,  because  you 
can  best  finish  off  with  that  woman." 

"  With  what  woman  ?  " 

'' With  Madame  Ahmakov.  I  know  all  about  it.  You  told  me 
yourself  that  she  is  afraid  of  that  letter  you've  got  .  .  ." 

"  What  letter  .  .  .  you're  talking  nonsense.  .  .  .  Have  you 
seen  her  1  "  I  muttered  in  confusion. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her.  She's  beautiful.   Tres  bdle ;  and  you've  taste." 

"  I  know  you've  seen  her  but  you  did  not  dare  speak  to  her, 
and  I  wish  you  did  not  dare  to  speak  of  her  either." 

"  You're  a  boy,  and  she  laughs  at  you — so  there  !  We  had  a 
virtuous  lady  like  that  in  ^Moscow.  Ough,  didn't  she  turn  up  her 
nose  !  but  she  began  to  tremble  when  we  threatened  that  we 
would  tell  all  we  knew  and  she  knuckled  under  directly  ;  and  we 
got  all  we  wanted  both  ways,  money,  and — you  understand  ? 
Now  she's  virtue  unapproachable  again  in  society — foo  !  my  word, 
isn't  she  high  and  mighty,  and  hasn't  she  got  a  turn-out.  Ah,  you 
should  have  seen  that  little  back  room  it  happened  in  !    You've 

439 


not  lived  ;  if  only  you  knew  the  little  back  rooms  they  don't 
shrink  from  .  .  ." 

"  I've  thought  that,"  I  could  not  help  mutterinc;. 

"  They're  corrupt  to  their  very  finger-tips  ;  you  don't  kno%v 
what  they're  capable  of  !  Alphonsine  lived  in  a  house  like  that, 
and  she  was  disgusted." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  I  chimed  in  again. 

"  But  they  beat  you,  and  you  complain  .  .  ." 

"  Lambert,  you're  a  blackguard,  you're  a  damned  beast !  "  I 
cried,  suddenly  pulling  myself  together  and  beginning  to  tremble. 
"  I  have  dreamed  all  this,  you  were  in  it  and  Anna  Andrej'evna 
.  .  .  Oh,  you  damned  brute  1  Did  you  really  think  I  was  such  a 
scoimdrel  ?  I  dreamed  it  because  I  knew  that  you  would  say 
this.  And  besides,  all  this  can't  be  so  simple  that  you  can  talk 
to  me  about  it  so  simply  and  directly." 

"  He  is  in  a  rage,  tut,  tut,  tut !  "  Lambert  drawled,  laughing 
and  triumphant.  "  Well,  Arkasha,  my  boy,  now  I've  found  out  all 
I  wanted  to  know.  That's  why  I  was  so  eager  to  see  3'ou.  Listen, 
you  love  her  I  see,  and  want  to  revenge  yourself  on  Buring. 
'J'hat's  what  I  wanted  to  find  out.  I've  been  suspecting 
it  all  this  time  while  I've  been  waiting  to  see  you.  Ceci 
pose,  celd  change  la  question.  And  so  much  the  better, 
for  she  loves  you  too.  So  you  must  marry  her  without  a 
moment's  delay,  that's  the  best  thing  ;  you  can't  do  anj'thing  else, 
that's  your  safest  position.  And  then  remember,  Arkady,  that 
3'ou  have  a  friend  in  me  of  whom  you  can  make  any  use  you  like. 
And  that  friend  will  help  you,  and  will  marry  you  :  I'll  move 
heaven  and  earth,  Arkasha  1  And  you  can  give  your  old  friend 
thirty  thousand  for  his  trouble  afterwards,  eh  1  And  I'll  help 
you,  don't  doubt  that.  I  know  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  busi- 
ness, and  they  shall  give  you  the  whole  dowry,  and  you'll  be  a 
wealthy  man  with  a  career  before  you  1  " 

Though  my  head  was  in  a  Avhirl  I  looked  at  Lambert  with 
wonder.  He  was  in  earnest,  and  not  merely  in  earnest  in  what  he 
said,  but  in  believing  in  the  possibility  of  my  marrying  ;  I  could 
see  that  he  thoroughly  believed  in  it  himself,  and,  in  fact,  caupht 
at  the  idea  with  enthusiasm.  I  saw,  of  course,  too,  that  he  wa:^ 
entrapping  me  like  a  schoolboy  (I  certainly  must  have  scon  it 
even  then)  ;  but  the  thought  of  marrying  her  so  thrilled  me  that 
though  I  wondered  how  Lambert  could  believe  in  such  a  fantastic 
notion,  yet,  at  the  same  time  I  tried  violently  to  believe  in  it 
myself,  though  I  did  not  for  an  instant  lose  consciousness  of  the 

440 


fact  that  it  could  not  possibly  come  to  pass.     All  this  was  mingled 
together  at  the  same  time. 

"  But  is  it  possible  ?  "  I  faltered. 

"  Why  not  ?  you  will  show  her  the  letter,  she'll  be  frightened 
and  marry  you  to  keep  her  money." 

I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  stop  Lambert  in  his  vile  suggestions, 
for  he  disclosed  them  to  me  with  such  simplicity  and  did  not 
suspect  that  I  might  be  revolted  by  them  ;  I  did  mutter,  however, 
that  I  should  not  like  to  marry  her  simply  by  force. 

"  I  don't  want  to  use  force  for  anything  ;  how  can  you  be  so 
base  as  to  think  me  capable  of  it !  " 

"  Hoity-toity  !  Why,  she'll  marry  you  of  her  own  accord  : 
it  won't  be  your  doing,  she'll  be  frightened  and  marry  you  herself, 
and  she'll  marry  you  because  she  loves  you,  too,"  Lambert  put 
in  hastily. 

"  That's  a  lie  ;  j'ou're  laughing  at  me.  How  do  you  know  she 
loves  me  ?  " 

*'  Of  course  she  does.  I  know  it.  And  Anna  Andreyevna 
assumes  it.  It's  the  truth  in  earnest.  I'm  telling  you  that 
Anna  Andreyevna  assumes  it.  And  I'll  tell  you  something  else 
when  you  come  to  me,  and  you'll  see  that  she  does  love  you. 
Alphonsine  has  been  at  Tsarskoe  ;  she  foimd  out  there  .  .  ." 

"  What  could  she  find  out  there  ?  " 

"  You  come  back  with  me  ;  she'll  tell  you  herself,  and  it  vrill 
please  you.  Why,  aren't  you  as  good  as  anybody,  you  are  hand- 
some, you  are  well  educated." 

"  Yes,  I  am  well  educated,"  I  answered,  hardly  able  to 
breathe  ;  my  heart  was  thumping  and,  of  course,  not  only  from 
the  wine. 

"  You  are  handsome,  you  are  well  dressed.** 

"  Yes,  I'm  well  dressed." 

*'  And  you  are  good-natured.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  I'm  good-natured." 

"  Why  shoiildn't  she  consent  ?  Biiring  won't  take  her  without 
money  anyway,  and  you  can  deprive  her  of  her  money — so  she'll 
be  in  a  fright :  you'll  marry  her  and  punish  Biiring.  Why,  vou 
told  me  yourself  that  night  after  you  were  frozen  that  she  was  in 
love  with  you." 

"  Can  I  have  told  you  that  ?     I'm  sure  I  did  not  tell  you  that." 

"  Yes,  you  did." 

"  I  was  delirious  when  I  said  that.  I  suppose  I  told  you  of  the 
letter  too  ?  " 

441 


"  Yes,  you  told  me  you  had  such  a  letter ;  I  thought  at  the  time 
how  can  he  let  slip  his  luck  if  he  has  such  a  letter  ?  " 

"  It's  all  a  mad  idea,  and  I'm  not  so  stupid  as  to  believe  it,"  I 
muttered ;  "  to  begin  with  there's  a  difference  in  our  ages,  and 
besides  I've  no  siuname." 

"  But  she'll  marry  you  though  ;  she  can't  help  marrying  you 
when  it's  a  question  of  so  much  money — I'll  arrange  that.  And, 
what's  more,  she  loves  you.  You  know  that  old  prince  is  very 
well  disposed  to  you  ;  through  his  protection,  you  know,  you  can 
form  connections  ;  and  what  does  it  matter  if  you  have  no  name, 
nowadays  nothing  of  that's  necessary  :  once  you  pocket  the 
money  you'll  get  on  and  get  on,  and  in  ten  years'  time  you  will  be 
such  a  millionaire  that  all  Russia  will  resoimd  with  your  fame, 
so  you  won't  need  a  name  then.  Why,  you  can  buy  a  title  in 
Austria.  And  when  you  get  married,  keep  her  well  in  hand. 
They  want  a  firm  hand.  If  a  woman's  in  love,  she  likes  to  feel  a 
man's  got  a  tight  grip  on  her.  Women  4ike  will  in  a  man.  When 
you  frighten  her  with  the  letter,  from  that  hour  you  will  show  her 
you  have  strength  of  will.  '  Ah,'  she'll  say  '  he's  so  young,  and 
yet  he  has  will.'  " 

I  sat,  as  it  were,  spell-bound.  I  should  never  with  anyone 
else  have  sunk  to  such  an  idiotic  conversation.  But  in  this  case  a 
sort  of  voluptuous  craving  drew  me  on  to  continue  it.  Besides, 
Lambert  was  so  stupid  and  so  low  that  no  one  could  feel  ashamed 
of  anjrthing  before  him. 

"  No,  do  you  know,  Lambert,"  I  said  suddenly  :  "  yon  may 
say  what  you  like,  but  a  great  deal  of  this  is  absurd  ;  I  have  been 
talking  to  you  because  we  were  schoolfellows,  and  we  need  not  be 
ashamed  of  saying  anything  to  one  another  ;  but  I  would  not  have 
demeaned  myself  to  it  with  anyone  else  for  any  consideration. 
And,  first  of  aU,  tell  me  why  you  keep  repeating  so  positively  that 
she's  in  love  with  me  ?  That  was  quite  good  what  you  said  just 
now  about  having  capital ;  but  you  see,  Lambert,  you  don't 
know  anything  of  good  society  :  all  this  is  still  with  them  on  the 
most  patriarchal,  family  system,  so  to  say,  and,  therefore,  as  so  far 
she  does  not  know  my  abilities  and  what  a  position  I  may  achieve 
in  the  world,  she'll  be  ashamed  of  me.  But  I  won't  conceal  from 
you,  Lambert,  that  there  really  is  one  point  that  might  give  one 
hope.  You  see  :  she  might  marry  me  from  gratitude,  because  I 
might  save  her  from  a  man  she  hates.  And  she  is  afraid  of  that 
man." 

"  Ah,  you  mean  your  father  ?     Whj',  is  he  so  much  in  love 

442 


with  her  ?  "  Lambert  said,  pricking  up  his  ears  with  peculiar 
curiosity. 

"  Oh  no  !  "  I  cried  :  "  and  how  horrid  you  are,  and  at  the 
same  time  how  stupid,  Lambert !  Why,  if  he  were  in  love  with  her, 
how  could  I  want  to  marry  her  ?  After  all  we  are  father  and 
son,  that  would  be  shameful.  He  loves  my  mother,  my  mother, 
and  I  saw  how  he  held  her  in  his  arms.  I  did  think  at  one  time 
he  loved  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  but  now  I  know  for  certain  that 
though  he  may  once  have  loved  her,  he  has  hated  her  for  a  long 
time  now  .  .  .  and  wants  to  revenge  himself  on  her,  and  she's 
afraid  of  him,  for  I  tell  you,  Lambert,  he  is  very  terrible  \\hen 
he  begins  to  revenge  himself.  He  becomes  almost  insane.  When 
he's  in  a  rage  with  her,  he  doesn't  stick  at  anything.  This  is  a 
feud  in  the  old  style  on  account  of  the  loftiest  principles.  In  our 
time  we  don't  care  a  hang  for  any  general  principles  ;  nowadays 
there  are  no  general  principles  but  only  special  cases.  Ah, 
l^mbert,  you  don't  understand,  you  are  as  stupid  as  a  post ; 
I  am  talking  to  you  about  these  principles,  but  I  am  sure  you 
don't  understand.  You  are  awfully  uneducated.  Do  you  re- 
member you  used  to  beat  me  I  Now  I'm  stronger  than  you  are — 
do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Arkasha,  come  home  with  me  !  We'll  spend  the  evening  and 
drink  another  bottle,  and  Alphonsine  will  sing  to  the  guitar." 

"  No,  I'm  not  coming.  Listen,  Lambert,  I've  got  an  '  idea.' 
If  1  don't  succeed  and  don't  marry,  I  shall  fall  back  on  the  '  idea  ' ; 
but  you  haven't  an  idea." 

'■  All  right,  all  right,  you  shall  tell  me  about  it,  come  along." 

"  I  am  not  coming,"  I  said,  getting  up.  "  I  don't  want  to.  and 
I'm  not  coming.  I  shall  come  and  see  you,  but  you  are  a  black- 
guard. I'll  give  you  thirty  thousand,  but  I  am  cleaner  and  better 
than  you.  ...  I  see,  j'^ou  want  to  deceive  me  all  round.  But 
I  forbid  you  even  to  think  of  her  :  she's  above  every  one,  and 
your  plan  is  so  low  that  I  really  wonder  at  you,  Lambert.  I 
want  to  be  married,  that's  a  different  matter ;  but  I  don't  want 
money,  I  despise  money.  I  wouldn't  take  it  if  she  begged  me  to 
on  her  knees  .  .  .  but  marriage,  marriage,  that's  a  different 
matter.  But  you  know  that  was  quite  right  what  you  said,  that 
one  ought  to  keep  a  tight  hand  on  her.  It's  a  good  thing  to  love, 
to  love  passionately,  with  all  the  generosity  of  which  a  man  is 
capable,  and  which  can  never  be  found  in  a  woman ;  but  to  be 
despotic  is  a  good  thing  too.  For,  do  you  know,  Lambert,  a 
woman  loves   despotism.     You   understand   woman,   Lambert. 

443 


But  you  are  wonderfully  stupid  in  everything  else.  And  do  you 
know,  Lambert,  you  are  not  at  all  such  a  blackguard  as  you  seem, 
you're  simple.  I  like  you.  Ah,  Lambert,  why  are  you  such  a 
rogue  ?  What  a  jolly  time  we  might  have  if  you  weren't  I  You 
know  Trishatov's  a  dear." 

These  last  incoherent  phrases  I  muttered  in  the  street.  Oh, 
I  set  all  this  down  in  every  trivial  detail,  that  the  reader  may  see 
that  with  all  my  enthusiasm  and  my  vows  and  promises  to  re- 
form, and  to  strive  for  "  seemliness,"  I  was  capable  then  of  falling 
so  easily  and  into  such  filth.  And  I  swear  that  if  I  were  not  fully 
convinced  that  I  am  no  longer  the  same,  but  have  gained  strength 
of  character  by  practical  life,  I  should  not  have  confessed  all  this 
to  the  reader. 

We  went  out  of  the  shop,  and  Lambert  supported  me  slightly, 
putting  his  arm  round  me.  Suddenly  I  looked  at  him,  and  saw 
in  his  fixed,  terribly  intent  and  perfectly  sober  eyes  the  very 
same  expression  as  I  had  seen  that  morning  when  I  was  frozen 
and  when  he  had  led  me  to  the  cab  with  his  arm  round  me  in  the 
same  way,  and  listened,  all  eyes  and  ears,  to  my  incoherent  babble. 
Men  who  are  drunk  but  not  quite  hopelessly  drunk,  sometimes 
have  moments  of  absolute  soberness. 

"  I'm  not  going  home  with  you  for  anything,"  I  declared 
firmly  and  coherently,  looking  at  him  sarcastically  and  putting 
aside  his  arm. 

"  Come,  nonsense.  I'll  tell  Alphonsine  to  make  tea  for  us, 
come  !  " 

He  was  horribly  confident  that  I  should  not  get  away  ;  he  put 
his  arm  round  me  and  held  me  with  a  sort  of  relish,  as  his  prey, 
and  the  prey  was  what  he  needed  of  course,  that  evening  and  in 
that  condition  !     It  will  be  clear  later  why. 
"  I'm  not  coming  !  "  I  repeated.    "  Cab  !  " 
At  that  instant  a  sledge  drove  up  and  I  jumped  into  it. 
"  Where   are  you   off  to  ?     What  are   you   about !  "   yelled 
Lambert,  clutching  at  my  fur  coat  in  extreme  dismay. 

"  And  don't  dare  to  follow  me  !  "  I  cried,  "  don't  drive  after 
me."  At  that  very  instant  the  sledge  started,  and  my  coat  was 
torn  out  of  Lambert's  hands. 

"  You'll  come  all  the  same  !  "  he  shouted  after  me  in  an  angry 
voice. 

"  I  shall  come  if  I  want  to.  I  can  do  as  I  like  !  "  I  retorted, 
turning  round  in  the  sledge. 

444 


He  did  not  follow  me,  of  course,  because  there  did  not  happen 
to  be  another  sledge  at  hand,  and  I  succeeded  in  getting  out  of 
his  sight.  I  drove  on  as  far  as  the  Haymarket,  and  there  I 
stopped  and  dismissed  the  sledge.  I  had  a  great  desire  to  walk. 
I  was  not  conscious  of  being  tired  or  of  being  much  intoxicated, 
I  felt  full  of  vigour  ;  I  was  aware  of  a  fresh  flow  of  energy,  of  an 
exceptional  readiness  for  any  sort  of  enterprise,  and  of  innumer- 
able pleasant  ideas  in  my  brain. 

My  heart  was  thudding  violently  and  loudly,  I  could  hear 
every  beat.  And  everything  seemed  so  charming,  so  easy. 
When  I  passed  the  sentry  at  the  Haymarket  I  felt  inclined  to  go 
up  and  kiss  him.  There  was  a  thaw,  the  market-place  was  dingy 
and  evil-smelling,  but  I  was  delighted  even  with  the  market- 
place. 

"  I  am  in  the  Obuhovsky  Prospect,"  I  thought,  "  and  afterwards 
I  shall  turn  to  the  left  and  come  out  in  the  Semyonovsky  Polk. 
I  shall  take  a  short  cut,  that's  delightful,  it's  all  delightful.  My 
coat  is  unbuttoned,  how  is  it  no  one  snatches  it  off,  where  are  the 
thieves  ?  They  say  there  are  thieves  in  the  Haymarket ;  let 
them  come,  I  might  give  them  my  fur  coat.  What  do  I 
want  with  a  fur  coat  ?  A  fur  coat  is  property.  La  pro- 
рпШ  c'est  le  vol.  But  what  nonsense,  and  how  nice  ever}'- 
thing  is  !  It's  nice  that  the  snow  is  melting.  Why  frost  ? 
There's  no  need  of  a  frost  at  all.  It's  nice  to  talk  non- 
sense too.  What  was  it  I  said  to  Lambert  about  principles  ? 
I  said  there  were  no  general  principles,  but  only  special  cases  ; 
that  was  stuff,  utter  stuff  !  And  I  said  it  on  purpose,  out  of 
swagger.  I  am  a  little  ashamed,  but  after  all  it  doesn't  matter, 
I'll  make  up  for  it.  Don't  be  ashamed,  don't  distress  yourself, 
Arkady  Makarovitch.  Arkady  Makarovitch.  I  like  люи.  I  like 
you  very  much,  in  fact,  my  young  friend.  It's  a  pity  you're  a 
little  rascal  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  ah,  yes  .  .  .  ah  !  " 

I  suddenly  stood  still,  and  my  heart  began  to  ache  with  ecstasy 
again. 

"  Good  God  !  what  was  it  he  said  ?  He  said  that  she  loves 
me.  Oh,  he  is  a  scoundrel,  he  told  a  lot  of  lies,  that  was  to  make 
me  stay  the  night  with  him.  But  perhaps  not.  He  said  Anna 
Andreyevna  thinks  so  too.  .  .  .  Ba  !  But  Darya  Onisimovna 
might  have  found  out  something  about  it  for  him  ;   she  pokes 

445 


her  nose  into  everything.  And  why  didn't  I  go  to  him  ?  I 
should  have  found  out  everything  !  Н'ш  !  He  has  a  plan,  and  I 
had  a  presentiment  of  it  all,  every  bit  of  it.  The  dream.  A 
bold  scheme,  M.  Lambert,  only  let  me  tell  you  it  won't  be  so. 
Perhaps  it  will  though,  perhaps  it  will  !  And  can  he  bring  off 
my  marriage  ?  Perhaps  he  can.  He  is  naive  and  he  believes  it. 
He  is  stupid  and  impudent  like  all  practical  people.  Stupidity 
and  impudence  combined  are  a  great  force.  But  confess,  you 
were  really  afraid  of  Lambert,  Arkady  Makarovitch  !  And  what 
does  he  Avant  with  honest  people  ?  He  says  so  seriously  :  *  There 
isn't  an  honest  man  here  ! '  Why,  what  are  you  yourself  ?  And 
what  am  I  !  Don't  scoundrels  need  honest  men  ?  In  swindling 
honest  men  are  more  needed  than  anywhere.  Ha  !  ha  !  You 
did  not  know  that  till  now,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  you  were  so 
innocent.  Good  God  1  What  if  he  really  were  to  bring  about  my 
marriage  ! " 

I  stood  still  again.  Here  I  must  confess  something  stupid 
(as  it  is  all  so  long  ago) :  I  must  confess  that  I  had  long  before 
been  wishing  to  be  married — at  least  not  wishing,  and  it 
would  never  have  happened  (and  I  can  guarantee  it  never  will  in 
the  future),  but  more  than  once — ^a  great  many  times  in  fact — > 
I  had  dreamed  how  splendid  it  would  be  to  be  married,  es- 
pecially as  I  was  falling  asleep  at  night.  I  began  to  dream  of  it 
when  I  was  about  sixteen.  I  had  a  schoolfellow  of  my  own  age 
at  the  high  school,  called  Lavrovsky,  such  a  quiet,  sweet,  pretty 
boy,  not  particularly  distinguished  in  any  other  way,  however. 
I  hardly  ever  talked  to  him.  One  day  we  happened  to  be  sitting 
side  by  side,  and  he  was  very  dreamy,  and  suddenly  he  said  to 
me  :  '  Ah,  Dolgoruky,  what  do  you  think,  we  ought  to  be  married 
now ;  yes,  really  when  should  we  be  married  if  not  now  ;  now 
would  be  the  very  best  time,  and  yet  it's  impossible.'  And  he 
said  that  so  frankly.  And  I  agreed  with  it  at  once  entirely, 
for  I  already  had  visions  of  something  of  the  sort.  For  several 
days  afterwards  we  met  and  talked,  as  it  were,  in  secret,  only  of 
that  however.  But  afterwards,  I  don't  know  how  it  happened, 
but  we  left  off  talking  to  each  other  and  drifted  apart.  And  from 
that  time  I  began  to  dream  of  marriage.  This,  of  course,  would 
not  have  been  worth  mentioning,  only  I  wanted  to  show  how 
far  back  this  feeling  sometimes  goes.  .  .  . 

"  There  is  only  one  serious  objection,"  I  mused,  as  I  went  on 
again.  "  Oh,  of  course,  the  trivial  difference  in  our  ages  is  no 
real  obstacle,  but  she  is  such  an  aristocrat  and  I  am  simply 

446 


Dolgoruky  !  It's  awfully  horrid !  H'm  !  Couldn't  Versilov 
marry  mother  and  petition  the  government  for  me  to  be  legiti- 
matized as  a  reward  for  his  services,  so  to  say.  .  .  .  He's  been  in 
the  service,  so  must  have  rendered  services  ;  he  was  a  mediator 
at  the  emancipation.  .  .  .  Oh,  damn  it  all,  how  loathsome." 

I  suddenly  uttered  this  exclamation  and  stood  still  for  the 
third  time,  but  this  time  I  felt  as  though  I  had  been  crushed 
to  the  earth.  The  agonizing  feeling  of  humiliation  from  the 
cousciousntss  that  I  oould  desire  anything  so  shameful  as  the 
change  of  my  surname  by  being  legitimized,  this  treachery  to  my 
whole  childhood,  all  this  in  one  flash  shattered  my  previous 
mood,  and  all  my  joyfuhiess  was  dissipated  like  smoke.  "  No, 
I'll  never  tell  that  to  anyone,"  I  thought,  turning  crimson: 
"I've  sunk  so  low  because  I'm  in  love  and  stupid.  .  .  .  No, 
if  Lambert  is  right  in  anything,  it  is  that  nowadays,  in  our  age, 
the  man  is  what  matters,  and  afterwards  his  money.  Or  rather 
not  his  money,  but  rather  his  property.  With  a  capital  like  that 
I  would  throw  myself  into  the  '  idea,'  and  all  Russia  would  ring 
with  my  fame  in  ten  years,  and  I  would  revenge  myself  on  them  all. 
And  there's  no  need  to  stand  on  ceremony  with  her.  Lambert's 
right  there.  She'll  be  frightened  and  simply  marry  me.  She'il 
consent  in  the  simplest  and  most  abject  way,  and  marry  me." 
"  You  don't  know,  you  don't  know  in  what  little  back  room  that 
happened  !  "  I  remembered  Lambert's  words.  "  That's  true," 
I  went  on  miising  :  "  Lambert's  right  in  everything,  a  thousand 
times  more  right  than  Versilov  and  I  and  all  the  idealists  !  He 
is  a  realist.  She  shall  see  that  I  have  strength  of  will,  and  she 
will  say  :  '  Ho  has  will ! '  Lambert's  a  scoundrel,  and  all  he 
wants  is  to  get  tliirty  thousand  out  of  me,  and  yet  he  is  the  only 
friend  I  have.  There  is  no  other  sort  of  friendship  and  there  can 
be  no  other,  that's  all  been  invented  by  unpractical  people. 
And  I  shan't  be  even'  degrading  her  ;  shall  I  be  degrading  her-? 
Not  in  the  least :  all  women  are  like  that !  Are  there  any  women 
who  are  not  abject  ?  That's  why  she  must  have  a  man  over  her  ; 
that's  why  she's  created  a  subordinate  creature.  Woman  is  vice 
and  temptation,  and  man  is  honour  and  generosity.  So  it  will  be  to 
the  end  of  time.  And  what  if  I  do  mean  to  use  that '  document '  1 
That  does  not  matter.  That  does  not  prevent  honour  or 
generosity.  Pure,  unadulterated  Schillers  don't  exist,  they  are 
invented.  It  does  not  matter  if  one  has  to  pass  through  filth  to 
get  there,  as  long  as  the  goal  is  magnificent.  It  will  all  be  washed 
off,  it  will  all  be  smoothed  away  afterwards.     And  now  it's  only 

447 


'  breadth,'  it's  only  life,  it's  only  vital  truth — that's  what  it  is 
called  nowada5's." 

Oh,  I  repeat  again  :  I  must  be  forgiven  for  recording  all  my 
drunken  ravings  at  the  time.  Of  course  this  is  only  the  essence 
of  what  I  thought  then,  but  I  fancy  I  used  those  very  words. 
I  was  bound  to -record  them  because  I  have  sat  down  to  write 
in  order  to  condemn  myself.  And  what  is  to  be  condemned,  if 
not  that  ?  Can  there  be  anything  graver  in  my  life  ?  Wine  is 
no  justification.     In  vino  Veritas. 

Entirely  absorbed  in  such  dreams  I  did  not  notice  that  I  had 
reached  home,  that  is,  mother's  lodgings.  I  did  not  even  notice 
going  in,  but  as  soon  as  I  slipped  into  our  tiny  entrance,  I  realized 
at  once  that  something  unusual  was  happening. 

There  were  loud  voices  and  outcries  in  the  room,  and  I 
could  hear  that  mother  was  crying.  In  the  doorway  I  almost 
fell  over  Ьикегз'а,  who  was  running  from  Makar  Ivanovitch's 
room  to  the  kitchen.  I  flung  down  my  fur  coat  and  went  in  to 
Makar  Ivanovitch,  for  they  were  all  gathered  together  in  his 
room. 

There  I  found  mother  and  Versiiov.  Mother  was  supported 
in  his  arms,  and  he  was  pressing  her  to  his  heart.  Makar  Ivano- 
vitch was  sitting  as  usual  on  his  little  bench,  but  he  seemed 
overcome  with  Avcakness,  and  Liza  had  her  arms  round  his 
shoulders  and  with  an  effort  was  holding  him  up  ;  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  falling.  I  took  a  rapid  step  to- 
wards him  and  realized  with  a  shudder  that  the  old  man  was  dead. 

He  had  only  just  died,  one  minute  before  I  arrived.  Only  ten 
minutes  before  he  had  felt  just  as  usual.  No  one  was  with  him 
then  but  Liza  ;  she  had  been  sitting  with  him,  telling  her  grief, 
and  he  had  been  stroking  her  head  just  as  he  had  done  the  day 
before.  Suddenly  he  began  to  tremble  (Liza  told  us),  tried  to 
stand  up,  tried  to  cry  out,  and  began  falling  on  his  left  side,  and 
was  silent.  "  Rupture  of  the  heart !  "  said  Versiiov.  Liza 
uttered  a  scream  that  could  be  heard  all  over  the  house,  and 
they  had  all  run  in  at  once,  and  all  that  only  the  minute  before 
I  came  in. 

"  Arkady,"  Versiiov  cried,  "  run  instantly  to  Tatyana 
Pavlovna.  She's  sure  to  be  at  home.  Ask  her  to  come  at  once. 
Take  a  sledge.     Make  haste,  I  entreat  you  !  " 

His  eyes  were  shining.  I  remember  that  clearly.  I  did  not 
notice  in  his  face  anything  like  simple  pity,  anything  like  tears. 
The  others,  mother,  Liza,  and  Lukerya,  were  crying.  I  was  struck, 

448 


on  the  contrary — and  I  remember  this  very  well — ^by  a  look  of 
unusual  excitement  almost  of  elation  in  his  face.  I  ran  for 
Tatyana  Pavlovna. 

It  was  not  far  to  go,  as  the  reader  knows  already.  I  did  not 
take  a  sledge,  but  ran  all  the  way  without  stopping.  My  mind 
was  in  confusion,  and  yet  there  was  something  almost  like  elation 
in  my  heart,  too.  I  realized  something  momentous  was  happen- 
ing. Every  trace  of  drunkenness  had  disappeared  completely, 
and  with  it  every  ignoble  thought,  by  the  time  I  was  ringing  at 
Tatyana  Pavlovna's  door. 

The  Finnish  cook  opened  the  door  :  "  Not  at  home  !  "  she  said 
and  would  have  shut  it  at  once. 

"  Not  at  home  ?  "  I  cried,  and  rushed  headlong  into  the 
passage.     "  Impossible  !     Makar  Ivanovitch  is  dead  !  " 

"  Wha — at !  "  I  heard  Tatyana  Pavlovna  cry  out  in  her 
drawing-room,  through  the  closed  door. 

"  He  is  dead  !  Makar  Ivanovitch  is  dead  !  Andrey  Petrovitch 
begs  /ou  to  go  this  minute  !  " 

"  What  nonsense  you're  talking." 

The  bolt  clicked,  but  the  door  only  opened  an  inch.  "  What 
has  happened,  tell  me  !  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  know,  he  was  dead  when  I  arrived.  Andrey  Petro- 
vitch says  it's  rupture  of  the  heart !  " 

"  I'll  come  at  once,  this  minute.  Run  and  tell  them  I'm 
coming,  run  along  !  run  along  !  run  along  !  What  are  you 
stopping  for  ?  " 

But  through  the  half-opened  door  I  had  distinctly  seen  some 
one  come  suddenly  out  from  behind  the  curtain  that  screened 
Tatyana  Pavlovna's  bed,  and  that  some  one  was  standing  at  the 
back  of  the  room  behind  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  Mechanically  and 
instinctively  I  clutched  at  the  lock  and  would  not  let  the  door  Ъ(^ 
shut. 

"  Arkady  Makarovitch,  is  it  really  true  that  he's  dead  ?  "  I 
heard  a  soft,  smooth,  ringing  voice,  a  well-known  voice  that 
thrilled  everything  in  my  heart  at  once.  In  the  question  was  a 
note  of  some  emotion  that  deeply  stirred  her  heart. 

"  Oh,  if  that's  how  it  is,"  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  abandoning 
the  door,  "  if  that's  how  it  is — you  may  settle  it  to  please  yourself. 
It's  your  own  doing  !  " 

She  ran  full  speed  out  of  the  flat,  flinging  on  her  kerchief  and 
her  fur  coat  as  she  went  downstairs.  We  were  left  alone.  I 
■threw  ofi  my  fur  coat,  took  a  step  forward,  and  shut  the  door. 

449  2" 


^e  stood  before  me  as  she  had  done  that  time  before,  with  a 
bright  face,  and  just  as  she  had  done  then,  she  held  out  both 
hands  to  me.  As  though  I  had  been  struck  down  I  literally  fell 
at  her  feet. 


I  was  beginnmg  to  cry,  I  don't  know  why ;  I  don't  remember 
how  she  made  me  sit  down  beside  her,  I  only  remember,  as  one  of 
my  most  precious  memories,  that  we  sat  side  by  side,  hand  in 
hand,  and  talked  eagerly  :  she  was  questioning  me  about  the  old 
man  and  his  death,  and  I  was  telling  her  about  him — so  that  it 
might  have  been  supposed  that  I  had  been  crying  over  Makar 
Ivanovitch,  though  that  would  have  been  the  acme  of  absurdity ; 
and  I  know  that  she  could  not  possibly  have  suspected  me  of  such 
childish  banality.  All  at  once  I  pulled  myself  together  and  felt 
ashamed.  I  imagine  now  that  I  cried  simply  from  joy,  and  I 
beUeve  she  knew  that  perfectly  well,, so  that  my  heart  is  quite  at 
rest  when  I  remember  it. 

It  suddenly  struck  me  as  very  strange  that  she  зЬоиИ  go  on 
questioning  me  about  Makar  Ivanovitch. 

"  Why,  did  you  know  him  ?  "  I  asked  in  surprise. 

**  Yes.  I  have  never  seen  him,  but  he  has  played  a  part  in  my 
life,  too.  I  was  told  a  great  deal  about  him  at  one  time,  by  that 
man  whom  I  fear.     You  know  what  man  I  mean." 

"  All  I  know  is  that  *  that  man  '  has  been  in  the  past  much 
nearer  to  your  heart  than  you  told  me  before,"  I  said.  I  don't 
know  what  I  meant  to  express  by  this,  but  I  spoke  as  it  were 
reproachfully  and  with  a  frown. 

"  You  say  he  was  kissing  your  mother  just  now  ?  Holding  her 
in  his  arms  ?  You  saw  that  yourself  ?  "  she  did  not  hear  what  I 
said,  but  went  on  cross-examining  me. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  it ;  and,  believe  me,"  I  hastened  to  assure  her, 
seeing  her  joy,  "  it  was  with  true  and  generous  feeling." 

"  God  grant  it,"  she  said,  crossing  herself.  "  Now  he  is  set  free. 
That  admirable  old  man  simply  held  his  life  in  bondage.  His 
death  will  mean  for  him  a  renewal  of  duty  .  .  .  and  dignity,  as 
they  were  renewed  once  before.  Oh,  he  is  before  all  things 
generous,  he  will  give  peace  of  heart  to  your  mother,  whom  he 
loves  more  than  anything  on  earth,  and  will  at  last  be  at  peace 
himself,  and  thank  God — it's  high  time." 

"  He  is  dear  to  you  1  " 

45P 


"  Yes,  very  dear,  though  not  in  the  way  he  would  have  liked 
to  be  and  you  mean  by  your  question." 

"  And  is  it  for  yourself  or  for  him  that  you  are  afraid  now  1  " 
I  asked  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  these  are  deep  questions,  let  us  leave  them." 
'  Let  us  leave  them,  of  couj*se ;  but  I  knew  nothing  of  this, 
nor  of  too  much  else  perhaps ;  but  may  you  be  right,  now  every- 
thing will  begin  anew,  and  if  anyone  is  to  be  renewed,  it's  I  first  of 
all.  I  have  been  base  in  my  thoughts  in  regard  to  you,  Katerina 
Nikolaevna,  and  not  more  than  an  hour  ago,  perhaps,  I  was  guilty 
of  a  low  action  in  regard  to  you,  but  do  you  know  I  am  sitting 
beside  you  and  feel  no  pang  of  conscience.  For  everything  now  is 
over,  and  everything  is  beginning  anew,  and  the  man  who  was 
plotting  vileness  against  you  an  hour  ago  I  don't  know,  and  don  t 
want  to  know  !  " 

"Come,  calm  yourself,"  she  smiled;  "one  would  think  you 
were  a  little  delirious." 

"  And  how  can  one  condemn  oneself  beside  you,  whether  one 
is  good  or  vile — you  are  as  far  beyond  one  as  the  sun,  .  .  .  Tell 
me,  how  could  you  come  out  to  me  after  all  that's  happened  ? 
Oh,  if  only  you  knew  what  happened  only  an  hour  ago  !  And 
what  a  dream  has  come  true." 

"  I  expect  I  know  all  that,"  she  smiled  softly  :  "  you  have  just 
been  wanting  to  punish  me  in  some  way,  you  swore  to  ruin  me, 
and  would  certainly  have  killed,  or  at  least  have  beaten,  anyone 
who  had  dared  to  say  one  word  against  me." 

Oh,  she  smiled  and  jested  :  but  this  was  only  from  her  excessive 
kindness,  for  her  heart  at  that  moment,  as  I  realized  later,  was 
full  of  such  an  immense  anxiety  of  her  own,  such  a  violent  over- 
mastering emotion,  that  she  can  only  have  talked  to  me  and  have 
answered  mj'  foolish  irritating  questions,  she  can  only  have  done 
that  as  one  sometimes  answers  the  persistent  prattle  of  a  little 
child,  simply  to  get  rid  of  it.  I  understood  that  dully  and  felt 
ashamed,  but  I  could  not  help  persisting. 

"  No,"  I  cried,  unable  to  control  myself.  "  No,  I  did  not  kill 
the  man  who  spoke  ill  of  you,  I  encouraged  him  instead  !  " 

"  Oh,  for  goodness'  sake,  please  don't ;  there's  no  need  to  tell  me 
anything,"  she  said,  suddenly  putting  out  her  hand  to  stop  me, 
with  a  look  of  compassion  in  her  face ;  but  I  leapt  up  from  my 
seat  and  was  standing  before  her,  to  tell  her  everything,  and  if  I 
had  told  her,  nothing  of  what  happened  afterwards  would  have 
happened,  for  it  would  certainly  have  ended  in  my  confessing 

451 


everything  and  returning  the  document  to  her.  But  she  suddenly 
laughed. 

"  There's  no  need,  there's  no  need  of  anj^hing,  no  facts  at  all  ! 
I  know  all  your  misdoings  ;  I'm  ready  to  bet  that  you  meant  to 
marry  me  or  something  of  that  sort,  and  you  have  only  just  been 
plotting  about  it  with  some  one,  with  some  accomplice,  some  old 
school  friend.  .  .  .  Why  I  believe  I've  guessed  right !  "  she  cried, 
looking  gravely  at  my  face. 

"  What  .  .  .  how  could  you  guess ! "  I  faltered  like  a  fool, 
tremendously  impressed. 

^'  Well,  what  next  I  But  that's  enough,  that's  enough  !  I 
forgive  you,  but  no  more  about  it,"  she  waved  her  hand  again, 
with  unmistakable  impatience.  "  I  am  given  to  dreaming  my- 
self, and  if  you  only  knew  what  shifts  I  have  recourse  to  in  my 
dreams  when  I  let  myself  go  !  That's  enough,  you  make  me 
forget  what  I  was  going  to  say.  I  am  very  glad  that  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  has  gone  away  ;  I  have  been  very  anxious  to  see  you, 
and  we  could  not  have  talked  as  we  are  doing  before  her.  I 
believe  I  was  to  blame  for  what  happened.  I  was  1  Of  course 
I  was  !  " 

"  You  to  blame  ?  But  I  had  betrayed  you  to  him,  and — what 
can  you  have  thought  of  me  !  I  have  been  thinking  of  that  all 
this  time,  all  these  days,  I've  been  thinking  and  feeling  about  it 
every  minute."     (It  was  not  a  lie.) 

"  There  was  no  need  for  you  to  distress  yourself  so  much,  I 
quite  understood  at  the  time  how  it  had  all  happened ;  you 
simply  spoke  too  freely  in  your  joy,  and  told  him  that  you 
were  in  love  with  me  and  that  I  .  .  .  well,  that  I  listened  to  you. 
Just  what  you  would  do  at  twenty.  You  love  him  more  than 
anyone  in  the  world,  don't  you,  and  look  to  him  to  be  your  friend, 
your  ideal  ?  I  quite  understood  that,  but  it  was  too  late.  Oh 
yes,  I  was  to  blame  :  I  ought  to  have  sent  for  you  at  the  time, 
and  have  set  your  mind  at  rest,  but  I  felt  annoyed  ;  and  I  told 
them  not  to  admit  you  ;  that's  what  led  to  the  scene  at  the 
entrance,  and  then  that  night.  And  do  you  know,  Uke  you.  I've 
been  dreaming  all  this  time  of  meeting  you  secretly,  only  I  did 
not  know  how  to  arrange  it  ?  And  what  do  you  suppose  I 
dreaded  more  than  anything  ?  That  you  would  believe  what  he 
said  against  me." 

"  Never  !  "  I  cried. 

"  The  memory  of  oiu"  meetings  in  the  past  is  dear  to  me  ;  the 
boy  in  you  is  very  dear  to  me,  and  perhaps,  too,  that  very 

452 


sincerity  .  .  .  you  know,  I'm  a  very  serious  person,  I  am  one  of 
the  most  serious  and  gloomy  characters  among  modem  women, 
let  me  tell  you  .  .  .  ha — ha — ha  !  We'll  have  another  talk 
some  time,  but  now  I'm  not  quite  myself,  I  am  upset  and  .  .  . 
I  believe  I'm  a  little  hysterical.  But,  at  last,  at  last,  he  will  let 
me,  too,  live  in  peace." 

This  exclamation  broke  from  her  unconsciously ;  I  understood 
it  at  once,  and  did  not  want  to  catch  it  up,  but  I  trembled  all  over. 

"  He  knows  I've  forgiven  him  !  "  she  exclaimed  suddenly  again, 
as  though  to  herself. 

"  Could  you  really  forgive  him  that  letter  ?  And  how  could 
he  tell  that  you  forgave  him  ?  "  I  could  not  help  exclaiming. 

"  How  could  he  tell  \  Oh,  he  knows,"  she  went  on  answering 
me,  yet  she  looked  as  though  she  had  forgotten  my  existence  and 
were  talking  to  herself.  "  He  has  come  to  his  senses  now.  And 
how  could  he  not  know  that  I  forgave  him,  when  he  knows  every 
secret  of  my  soul  by  heart  ?  Why,  he  knows  that  I  am  a  little 
after  his  kind  myself." 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  he  knows  that.  Oh,  I'm  not  passionate,  I'm  calm  : 
but  like  him  I  should  like  all  men  to  be  fine,  ...  Of  course 
there  was  something  made  him  love  me." 

"  How  could  he  say  that  you  had  all  the  vices." 

"  He  only  said  that ;  he  has  another  secret  in  his  heart.  And 
didn't  he  write  an  awfully  funny  letter  ?  " 

"  Funny  ?  "  (I  was  listening  to  her  with  strained  attention. 
I  imagined  that  she  really  was  hysterical,  and  .  .  .  was  speaking, 
perhaps,  not  for  my  benefit ;  but  I  could  not  resist  the  question.) 

"  Oh  yes,  funny,  and  how  I  should  have  laughed,  if  ...  if 
I  hadn't  been  frightened.  Though  I'm  not  such  a  coward,  don't 
think  it ;  but  I  didn't  sleep  all  night  after  that  letter,  it  seemed 
written  in  blood  and  frenzy  .  .  .  and  after  such  a  letter  what  was 
left  to  come.  I  love  life,  I'm  horribly  afraid  for  my  life,  I'm 
horribly  cowardly  in  that.  .  .  .  Ah,  listen,"  she  cried,  suddenly 
darting  at  me,  "  go  to  him,  he's  alone  now,  he  can't  be  there  still, 
most  Likely  he's  gone  off  somewhere  alone ;  make  haste  and  find 
him,  you  must  make  haste,  run  to  him,  show  him  that  you  are  his 
son  and  love  him,  prove  that  you  are  the  dear  kind  boy,  my 
student  Avhom  I  ...  Oh,  God  give  you  happiness,  I  love  nobody, 
and  it  is  better  so,  but  I  want  every  one  to  be  happy,  every  one, 
and  him  above  all,  and  let  him  know  that  ...  at  once  ...  I 
should  be  very  glad." 

453 


She  got  up  and  suddenly  disappeared  behind  the  curtain. 
At  that  instant  tears  were  shining  on  her  face  (hysterical  after  her 
laughter).  I  remained  alone,  agitated  and  confused.  I  was 
completely  at  a  loss  to  what  to  ascribe  such  emotion  in  her,  an 
emotion  which  I  never  should  have  suspected.  Something 
seemed  to  be  clutching  at  my  heart. 

I  waited  five  minutes,  ten  ;  the  profound  silence  suddenly 
struck  me,  and  I  ventured  to  peep  out  of  the  door,  and  to  call. 
In  answer  to  my  call  Marya  appeared  and  informed  me  in  the 
most  stolid  tone,  that  the  lady  had  put  on  her  things  long,  long 
ago  and  gone  out  by  the  back  way. 


CHAPTER  VII 


This  was  enough  for  me.  I  snatched  up  my  fur  coat  and,  throwing 
it  on  as  I  went,  rushed  off  with  the  thought  :  "  She  bade  me  go 
to  him,  but  where  shall  I  find  him  ?  " 

But  together  with  everything  else  I  was  struck  by  the  question, 
"Why  does  she  suppose  that  something  has  happened,  and  that 
now  he  will  leave  her  in  peace  ?  Of  course,  because  he  will 
marry  mother,  but  what  is  she  feeling  ?  Is  she  glad  that  he 
will  marry  mother,  or  is  she  unhappy  about  it  ?  And  was  that 
why  she  was  hysterical  ?  Why  is  it  I  can't  get  to  the  bottom 
of  it  ?  " 

I  note  this  second  thought  that  flashed  upon  me,  literally 
in  order  to  record  it :  it  is  important.  That  evening  was  a 
momentous  one.  And  really  one  is  forced  to  believe  in  pre- 
destination :  I  had  not  gone  a  hundred  steps  in  the  direction 
of  mother's  lodging  when  I  came  across  the  man  I  was  looking 
for.     He  clutched  me  by  the  shoulder  and  stopped  me. 

"  It's  you  !  "  he  cried  joj^ully,  and  at  the  same  time  with  the 
greatest  astonishment.  "  Only  fancy,  I've  been  at  your  lodgings," 
he  began  quickly,  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you,  I've  been  asking 
for  you,  you  are  the  one  person  I  want  in  the  whole  universe  ! 
Your  landlord  told  me  some  extraordinary  tale  ;  but  you  weren't 
there,  and  I  came  away  and  even  forgot  to  tell  him  to  ask  you  to 
run  round  to  me  at  once,  and,  would  you  believe  it,  I  set  off, 
nevertheless,  with  the  positive  conviction  that  fate  could  not  fail 
to  send  you  to  me  now  when  most  I  need  you,  and  here  3'ou  are 

454 


the  first  person  to  meet  me  !  Come  home  with  me  :  you've 
never  been  to  my  rooms." 

In  fact  we  had  been  looking  for  each  other,  and  something  of 
the  same  sort  had  happened  to  each  of  us.  We  walked  very 
rapidly. 

On  the  way  he  uttered  only  a  few  brief  phrases,  telling  me  he 
had  left  mother  with  Tatyana  Pavlovna  and  so  on.  He  walked 
holding  my  arm.  His  lodging  was  not  far  off  and  we  soon 
arrived.  I  had,  in  fact,  never  been  in  these  rooms  of  his.  It  was 
a  small  flat  of  three  rooms,  which  he  had  taken  or  rather  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  had  taken  simply  for  that  "  tiny  baby."  The  flat 
had  always  been  under  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  supervision,  and  in  it 
had  been  installed  a  nurse  with  the  baby  (and  now  Darya  Onisi- 
movna,  too),  but  there  had  always  been  a  room  there  for  Versilov, 
the  outermost  of  the  three,  a  fairly  good  and  spacious  room, 
snugly  furnished,  like  a  study  for  literary  pursuits.  On  the  table, 
on  the  shelves,  and  on  a  whatnot  there  were  numbers  of  books 
(while  at  mother's  there  were  none  at  all)  ;  there  were  manu- 
scripts and  bundles  of  letters — in  fact,  it  all  looked  snug  and  as 
though  it  had  been  long  inhabited,  and  I  know  that  in  the  past 
Versilov  had  sometimes,  though  not  very  often,  moved  into  this 
flat  altogether,  and  had  stayed  there  even  for  weeks  at  a  time. 
The  first  thing  that  caught  my  attention  was  a  portrait  of  mother 
that  hung  over  the  writing  table  ;  a  photograph  in  a  magnificent 
carved  frame  of  rare  wood,  obviously  taken  abroad  and  judging 
from  its  size  a  very  expensive  one.  I  had  never  heard  of  this 
portrait  and  knew  nothing  of  it  before,  and  what  struck  me  most 
of  all  was  the  likeness  which  was  remarkable  in  a  photograph, 
the  spiritual  truth  of  it,  so  to  say ;  in  fact  it  looked  more  like  a  real 
portrait  by  the  hand  of  an  artist  than  a  mere  mechanical  print. 
When  I  went  in  I  could  not  help  stopping  before  it  at  once. 

"  Isn't  it,  isn't  it  ?  "  Versilov  repeated  behind  me,  meaning, 
"  Isn't  it  like  ?  "  I  glanced  at  him  and  was  struck  by  the 
expression  of  his  face.  He  was  rather  pale,  but  there  was  a 
glowing  and  intense  look  in  his  eyes  which  seemed  shining  with 
happiness  and  strength.  I  had  never  seen  such  an  expression 
on  his  face. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  loved  mother  so  much  !  "  I  blurted 
out,  suddenly  delighted. 

He  smiled  blissfully,  though  in  his  smile  there  was  a  suggestion 
of  something  like  a  martyr's  anguish,  or  rather  something  humane 
and  lofty  ...  I  don't   know  how   to  express  it ;    but  highly 

455 


developed  people,  I  fancy,  can  never  have  triumphantly  and 
complacently  happy  faces.  He  did  not  answer,  but  taking  the 
portrait  from  the  rings  with  both  hands  brought  it  close  to  him, 
kissed  it,  and  gently  hung  it  back  on  the  wall. 

"  Observe,"  he  said  ;  "  photographs  very  rarely  turn  out  good 
likenesses,  and  that  one  can  easily  understand :  the  originals, 
that  is  all  of  us,  are  very  rarely  like  ourselves.  Only  on  rare 
occasions  does  a  man's  face  express  his  leading  quality,  his  most 
characteristic  thought.  The  artist  studies  the  face  and  divines 
its  characteristic  meaning,  though  at  the  actual  moment  when 
he's  painting,  it  may  not  be  in  the  face  at  all.  Photography 
takes  a  man  as  he  is,  and  it  is  extremely  possible  that  at 
moments  Napoleon  would  have  turned  out  stupid,  and  Bismarck 
tender.  Here,  in  this  portrait,  by  good  luck  the  sun  caught  Sonia 
in  her  characteristic  moment  of  modest  gentle  love  and  rather  wild 
shrinking  chastity.  And  how  happy  she  was  when  at  last  she 
was  convinced  that  I  was  so  eager  to  have  her  portrait.  Though 
that  photograph  was  taken  not  so  long  af^o,  still  she  was  younger 
then  and  handsomer  ;  yet  even  then  she  had  those  hollow  cheeks, 
those  lines  on  her  forehead,  that  shrinking  timidity  in  her  eyes, 
which  seems  to  gain  upon  her  with  the  years,  and  increase  as  time 
goes  on.  Would  you  believe  it,  dear  boy  ?  I  can  scarcely 
picture  her  now  with  a  different  face,  and  yet  you  know  she  was 
once  young  and  charming.  Russian  women  go  off  quickly,  their 
beauty  is  only  a  passing  gleam,  and  this  is  not  only  due  to  racial 
peculiarity,  but  is  because  they  are  capable  of  unhmited  love. 
The  Russian  woman  gives  everything  at  once  when  she  loves — 
the  moment  and  her  whole  destiny  and  the  present  and  the  future : 
she  does  not  know  how  to  be  thrifty,  she  keeps  nothing  hidden  in 
reserve ;  and  their  beauty  is  quickly  consumed  upon  him  whom 
they  love.  Those  hollow  cheeks,  they  too  were  once  a  beauty 
that  has  been  consumed  on  me,  on  my  brief  amusement.  You 
are  glad  that  I  love  your  mother,  and  perhaps  you  didn't  believe 
that  I  did  love  her  ?  Yes,  my  dear,  I  did  love  her  very  much, 
but  I've  done  her  nothing  but  harm.  .  .  .  Here  is  another 
portrait — look  at  that,  too." 

He  took  it  from  the  table  and  handed  it  me.  It,  too,  was  a 
photograph,  a  great  deal  smaller,  in  a  thin  oval  wooden  frame — 
it  was  the  face  of  a  young  girl,  thin  and  consumptive,  and  at  the 
same  time  very  good-looking  ;  dreamy  and  yet  strangely  lacking 
in  thought.  The  features  were  regular,  of  the  t3i^e  suggesting 
the  pampering  of  generations,  but  it  left  a  painful  impression  : 

456 


it  looked  as  though  some  fixed  idea  had  taken  possession  of  this 
creature  and  was  torturing  her,  just  because  it  was  too  much  for 
her  strength. 

"  That  .  .  .  that  is  the  girl  you  meant  to  marry  and  who  died 
of  consumption  .  .  .  her  step-daughter  ?  "  I  said  rather  timidly. 

"  Yes,  I  meant  to  marry  her,  she  died  of  consumption,  her 
step-daughter.  I  knew  that  you  knew  ...  all  that  gossip. 
Though  you  could  have  known  nothing  about  it  but  the  gossip. 
Put  the  portrait  down,  my  boy,  that  was  a  poor,  mad  girl  and 
nothing  more." 

"  ReaUy  mad  ?  " 

"  Or  imbecile  ;  I  think  she  was  mad  though.  She  had  a  child 
by  Prince  Sergay.  It  came  about  through  madness  not  through 
love  ;  it  was  one  of  Prince  Sergay's  most  scoundrelly  actions. 
The  child  is  here  now  in  the  next  room,  and  I've  long  wanted  to 
show  it  to  you.  Prince  Sergay  has  never  dared  come  here  to 
look  at  the  child  ;  that  was  the  compact  I  made  with  him  abroad. 
I  took  the  child  to  bring  up  with  your  mother's  permission. 
With  your  mother's  permission  I  meant  at  the  time  to  marry  that 
unhappy  creature  ..." 

"  Could  such  permission  have  been  possible  ?  "  I  protested 
warmly. 

"  Oh  yes,  she  allowed  it :  jealousy  could  only  have  been  felt 
of  a  woman,  and  that  was  not  a  woman." 

"  Not  a  woman  to  anyone  but  mother  !  I  shall  never  in  my 
life  believe  that  mother  was  not  jealous  !  "  I  cried. 

"  And  you're  right.  I  guessed  it  was  so  when  everything  was 
over,  that  is  when  she  had  given  her  permission.  But  enough  of 
that.  It  all  came  to  nothing  through  Lidya's  death,  and  perhaps 
it  wouldn't  have  come  off  if  she  had  lived,  and  even  now  I  don't 
let  mother  come  to  see  the  child.  It  was  only  an  episode.  My 
dear  boy,  I've  been  looking  forward  to  having  you  here  for  ever 
so  long.  I've  been  dreaming  of  how  we  should  get  to  know 
each  other  here.  Do  vou  know  how  long  ? — for  the  last  two 
years." 

He  looked  at  me  sincerely  and  truthfully,  and  with  a  warmth 
of  heart  in  which  there  was  no  reserve.     I  gripped  his  hand  : 

"  Why  have  you  put  it  off,  why  did  you  not  invite  me  long  ago  ? 
If  only  you  knew  all  that  has  been  ,  .  .  which  would  not  have 
been  if  only  you  had  sent  for  me  earUer  !  .  .  ." 

At  that  instant  the  samovar  was  brought  in,  and  Darya 
Onisimovna  suddenly  brought  in  the  baby  asleep. 

457 


"  Look  at  it,"  said  Versilov  ;  "  I  am  fond  of  it,  and  I  told  them 
to  bring  it  in  now  that  you  might  look  at  it.  Well,  take  it  away 
again,  Darya  Onisimovna.  Sit  down  to  the  samovar.  I  shall 
imagine  that  луе  have  always  lived  together  like  this,  and  that 
we've  been  meeting  every  evening  with  no  parting  before  us. 
Let  me  look  at  you  :  there,  sit  like  this,  that  I  can  see  your  face. 
How  I  love  your  face.  How  I  used  to  imagine  your  face  when  I 
was  expecting  you  from  Moscow.  You  ask  why  I  did  not  send 
for  you  long  ago  ?  Wait  a  little,  perhaps  you  will  understand 
that  now." 

"  Can  it  be  that  it's  only  that  old  man's  death  that  has  set 
your  tongue  free  ?     That's  strange  ..." 

But  though  I  said  that,  I  looked  at  him  with  love.  We  talked 
like  two  friends  in  the  highest  and  fullest  sense  of  the  word. 
He  had  asked  me  to  come  here  to  make  something  clear  to  me, 
to  tell  me  something,  to  justify  himself ;  and  yet  everything  wsis 
explained  and  justified  before  a  word  was  said.  Whatever  I 
might  hear  from  him  now,  the  result  was  already  attained,  and 
we  both  knew  that  and  were  happy,  and  looked  at  each  other 
knowing  it. 

"  It's  not  the  death  of  that  old  man,"  he  answered  :  "  it's  not 
his  death  alone,  there  is  something  else  too,  which  has  happened 
at  the  same  time.  .  .  .  God  bless  this  moment  and  our  future  for 
a  long  time  to  come  !  Let  us  talk,  my  dear  boy.  I  keep  wander- 
ing from  the  point  and  letting  myself  be  drawn  off.  I  want  to 
speak  about  one  thing,  but  I  launch  into  a  thousand  side  issues. 
It's  always  like  that  when  the  heart  is  full.  .  .  .  But  let  us  talk  ; 
the  time  has  come  and  I've  been  in  love  with  you,  boy,  for  ever 
80  long  .  .  ." 

He  sank  back  in  the  armchair  and  looked  at  me  once  more. 

"  How  strange  it  is  to  hear  that,  how  strange  it  is,"  I  repeated 
in  an  ecstasy  of  delight.  And  then  I  remember  there  suddenly 
came  into  his  face  that  habitual  line,  ae  it  were,  of  sadness  and 
mockery  together,  which  I  knew  so  well.  He  controlled  himself 
and  with  a  certain  stiffness  began. 


2 

"  You  see,  Arkady,  if  I  had  asked  you  to  come  earlier  what 

should  I  have  said  to  you  ?    That  question  is  my  whole  answer." 

"  You  mean  that  now  you  are  mother's  husband,  and  my 

458 


father,  while  then  .  .  .  You  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  me 
before  about  the  social  position  ?    Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Not  only  about  that,  dear  boy.  I  should  not  have  known 
what  to  say  to  you  :  there  was  so  much  I  should  have  had  to  be 
silent  about.  Much  that  was  absurd,  indeed,  and  humiliating, 
because  it  was  like  a  mountebank  performance — ^yes,  a  regular 
show  at  a  fair.  Come,  how  could  we  have  understood  each  other 
before,  луЬеп  I've  only  understood  myself  to-day  at  five  o'clock 
this  afternoon,  just  two  hours  before  Makar  Ivanovitch's  death  ? 
You  look  at  me  with  unpleasant  perplexity.  Don't  be  uneasy  : 
I  will  explain  the  facts,  but  what  I  have  just  said  is  absolutely 
true  ;  my  whole  life  has  been  lost  in  mazes  and  perplexity,  and 
suddenly  they  are  all  solved  on  such  a  day,  at  five  o'clock  this 
afternoon  !  It's  quite  mortifying,  isn't  it  ?  A  little  while  ago  I 
should  really  have  felt  mortified." 

I  was  listening  indeed  with  painful  wonder ;  that  old  expression  of 
Versilov's,  which  I  should  have  liked  not  to  meet  that  evening  after 
what  had  been  said,  was  strongly  marked.    Suddenly  I  exclaimed  : 

"  My  God  !  You've  received  something  from  her  ...  at  five 
o'clock  this  afternoon  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  intently,  and  was  evidently  struck  at  my 
exclamation  :  and,  perhaps,  at  my  expression  :  "  from  her." 

"  You  shall  know  all  about  it,"  he  said,  with  a  dreamy  smile, 
"  and,  of  course,  I  shall  not  conceal  from  you  anything  you  ought 
to  know  ;  for  that's  what  I  brought  you  here  for ;  but  let  us  put 
that  off  for  a  time.  You  see,  my  dear  boy,  I  knew  long  ago  that 
there  are  children  who  brood  from  their  earliest  years  over  their 
family  through  being  humiliated  by  the  unseemliness  of  their 
surroundings  and  of  their  parents'  lives.  I  noticed  these  brooding 
natures  while  I  was  still  at  school,  and  I  concluded  then  that  it  all 
came  from  their  being  prematurely  envious.  Though  I  was  myself 
a  brooding  child,  yet  .  .  .  excuse  me,  my  dear,  I'm  wonderfully 
absent-minded.  I  only  meant  to  say  that  almost  all  this  time 
I  have  been  continually  uneasy  about  you.  I  always  imagined 
you  one  of  those  little  creatures  doomed  to  solitude,  though 
conscious  of  being  gifted.  Like  you,  I  was  never  fond  of  my 
schoolfellows.  It  is  sad  for  those  natures  who  are  flung  back 
on  their  own  resources  and  dreams,  especially  when  they  have  a 
passionate,  premature  and  almost  vindictive  longing  for  'seemli- 
ness  ' — yes,  '  vindictive.'  But  enough,  dear  boy,  I'm  wander- 
ing from  the  point.  Before  I  had  begim  to  love  you,  I  was 
picturing  you  and  your  solitary  wild  dreams.  .  .  .  But  enough  ; 

459 


I've  actually  forgott'^n  what  I  had  begun  to  speak  about.  But 
all  this  had  to  be  said,  however.  But  what  could  I  have  said  to 
you  before  ?  Now  I  see  your  eyes  looking  at  me,  and  I  feel  it's 
my  son  looking  at  me.  Why,  even  yesterday  I  could  not  have 
believed  that  I  should  ever  be  sitting  and  talking  to  my  boy  as 
I  am  to-day." 

He  certainly  did  seem  unable  to  concentrate  his  mind,  and  at 
the  same  time  he  seemed,  as  it  were,  softened. 

"  I  have  no  need  to  dream  and  brood  now  ;  it's  enough  for  me, 
now,  that  I  have  ^юи  !  I  will  follow  you  !  "  I  said,  dedicating 
mj^self  to  him  with  my  whole  heart. 

"  Follow  me  ?  But  my  wanderings  are  just  over,  they  have 
ended  to-day  :  you  are  too  late,  my  dear  boy.  To-day  is  the  end 
of  the  last  act,  and  the  curtain  has  gone  down.  This  last  act  has 
dragged  on  long.  It  began  very  long  ago — the  last  time  I  rushed 
off  abroad.  I  threw  up  everything  then,  and  you  must  know, 
my  dear,  I  broke  off  all  relations  for  good  with  your  mother,  and 
told  her  I  was  doing  so  myself.  That  you  ought  to  know.  I  told 
her  then  I  was  going  away  for  ever  ;  that  she  would  never  see  me 
again.  What  was  worst  of  all,  I  even  forgot  to  leave  her  any 
money.  I  did  not  think  of  you  either,  not  for  one  minute.  I 
went  away  meaning  to  remain  in  Europe  and  never  to  return 
home,  my  dear.     I  emigrated." 

"  To  Herzen  ?  To  take  part  in  the  revolutionary  propaganda 
abroad  ?  Probably  all  yoiir  life  you  have  been  taking  part  in 
political  conspiracies  ?  "  I  cried,  unable  to  restrain  myself. 

"  No,  my  dear,  I've  never  taken  part  in  any  conspiracy.  But 
how  your  eyes  sparkle  ;  I  like  your  exclamations,  my  dear.  No, 
I  simply  went  away  then  from  a  sudden  attack  of  melancholy. 
It  was  the  typical  melancholy  of  the  Russian  nobleman,  I  really 
don't  know  how  to  describe  it  better.  The  melancholy  of  our 
upper  class,  and  nothing  else." 

"  Of  the  serf -owner  .  .  .  the  emancipation  of  the  serfs,"  I  was 
beginning  to  mutter,  breathless, 

"  Serf -owner  1  You  think  I  was  grieving  for  the  loss  of  it  ? 
That  I  could  not  endure  the  emancipation  of  the  serfs.  Oh  no, 
my  boy  ;  why,  we  were  all  for  the  emancipation.  I  emigrated 
with  no  resentful  feeling.  I  had  only  just  been  a  mediator, 
and  exerted  myself  to  the  utmost,  I  exerted  myself  disinterestedly, 
and  I  did  not  even  go  away  because  I  got  very  little  for  my 
liberalism.  We  none  of  us  got  anything  in  those  days,  that  is  to 
say  again,  not  those  that  were  like  me,     I  went  away  more  in 

460 


pride  than  in  penitence,  and,  believe  me,  I  was  far  from  imagining 
that  the  time  had  come  for  me  to  end  my  life  as  a  modest  shoe- 
maker, i/e  suis  gentilhomme  avant  tout  et  je  mourrai  gentil- 
homme  !  Yet  all  the  same  I  was  sad.  There  are,  perhaps,  a 
thousand  of  my  sort  in  Russia,  no  more  perhaps  really,  but  you 
know  that  is  quite  enough  to  keep  the  idea  alive.  We  are  the 
bearers  of  the  idea,  my  dear  boy  !  .  .  .  I  am  talking,  my  darling, 
in  the  strange  hope  that  you  may  understand  this  rigmarole. 
I've  brought  you  here  acting  on  a  caprice  of  the  heart :  I've 
long  been  dreaming  of  how  I  might  tell  you  something  .  .  .  you, 
and  no  one  else.     However  .  .  .  however  .  .  ." 

"  No,  tell  me,"  I  cried  :  "  I  see  the  look  of  sincerity  in  your 
face  again.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  did  Europe  bring  you  back  to  hfe  again  ? 
And  what  do  you  mean  by  the  '  melancholy  of  the  nobleman  !  ' 
Forgive  me,  darling,  I  don't  understand  yet." 

"  Europe  bring  me  back  to  life  ?  Why,  I  went  to  bury 
Europe  !  " 

"  To  bury  ?  "  I  repeated  in  surprise. 

He  smiled. 

"  Arkady  dear,  my  soul  was  weary  then,  and  I  was  troubled 
in  spirit.  I  shall  never  forget  my  first  moments  in  Eiu-ope  that 
time.  I  had  stayed  in  Europe  before,  but  this  was  a  special  time, 
and  I  had  never  gone  there  before  with  such  desperate  sadness, 
and  .  .  .  with  such  love,  as  on  that  occasion.  I  will  tell  you 
about  one  of  my  first  impressions,  one  of  the  dreams  I  had  in 
those  days,  a  real  dream.  It  was  when  I  was  in  Germany,  I  had 
only  just  left  Dresden,  and  in  absence  of  mind  I  passed  the  station 
at  which  I  ought  to  have  got  out,  and  went  off  on  to  another  line. 
I  had  to  get  out  at  once  to  change,  it  was  between  two  and  three 
in  the  afternoon,  a  fine  day.  It  was  a  little  German  town  :  I 
was  directed  to  an  hotel.  I  had  to  wait ;  the  next  train  was  at 
eleven  o'clock  at  night.  I  was  quite  glad  of  the  adventure,  for  I 
was  in  no  particular  haste  to  get  anywhere,  and  was  simply 
wandering  from  place  to  place,  my  dear.  The  hotel  turned  out 
to  be  small  and  poor,  but  all  surrounded  by  green  trees  and 
flower-beds,  as  is  always  the  case  in  Germany.  They  gave  me  a 
tiny  room,  and  as  I  had  been  travelling  all  night  I  fell  asleep, 
after  dinner,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

"  I  dreamed  a  dream  that  was  a  complete  surprise  to  me,  for  I 
had  never  had  any  dreams  of  the  sort  before.  In  the  gallery  at 
Dresden  there  is  a  picture  by  Claude  Lorraine,  called  in  the 
catalogue  '  Acis  and  Galatea,'  but  I  used  to  call  it  '  The  Golden 

461 


Age,'  I  don't  know  why.  I  had  seen  it  before,  but  I  had  noticed 
it  again  in  passing  three  days  earlier.  I  dreamed  of  this  picture, 
but  not  as  a  picture,  but,  as  it  were,  a  reality.  J.  don't  know 
exactly  what  I  did  dream  though  :  it  was  just  as  in  the  picture, 
a  corner  of  the  Grecian  Archipelago,  and  time  seemed  to  have 
gone  back  three  thousand  years ;  blue  smiling  waves,  isles  and 
rocks,  a  flowery  shore,  a  view  like  fairyland  in  the  distance,  a 
setting  sun  that  seemed  calling  to  me — there's  no  putting  it  into 
words.  It  seemed  a  memory  of  the  cradle  of  Europe,  and  that 
thought  seemed  to  fill  my  soul,  too,  with  a  love  as  of  kinship. 
Here  was  the  earthly  paradise  of  man  :  the  gods  came  down  from 
the  skies,  and  were  of  one  kin  with  men.  .  .  .  Oh,  here  lived  a 
splendid  race  !  they  rose  up  and  lay  down  to  sleep  happy  and 
innocent ;  the  woods  and  meadows  were  filled  with  their  songs 
and  merry  voices.  Their  wealth  of  untouched  strength  was 
spent  on  simple-hearted  joy  and  love.  The  sun  bathed  them  in 
warmth  and  light,  rejoicing  in  her  splendid  children  .  .  .  Mar- 
vellous dream,  lofty  error  of  mankind  !  The  Golden  Age  is  the 
most  unlikely  of  all  the  dreams  that  have  been,  but  for  it  men 
have  given  up  their  life  and  all  their  strength,  for  the  sake  of  it 
prophets  have  died  and  been  slain,  without  it  the  peoples  will 
not  live  and  cannot  die,  and  the  feeling  of  all  this  I  lived  through, 
as  it  were,  in  that  dream ;  rocks  and  sea,  and  the  slanting  rays 
of  the  setting  sun — all  this  I  seemed  still  to  see  when  I  woke  up 
>nd  opened  my  eyes,  literally  wet  with  tears.  I  remembered  that 
I.  was  glad,  a  sensation  of  happiness  I  had  never  known  before 
thrilled  my  heart  till  it  ached ;  it  was  the  love  of  all  humanity. 
It  was  by  then  quite  evening ;  through  the  green  of  the  flowers 
that  stood  in  the  windows  of  my  little  room,  broke  slanting 
rays  that  flooded  me  with  light.  And  then,  my  dear — that  setting 
sun  of  the  first  day  of  European  civilization  which  I  had  seen  in 
my  dream  was  transformed  for  me  at  once  on  waking,  into  the 
setting  sun  of  the  last  day  of  civilization  !  One  seemed  to  hear 
the  death-knell  ringing  over  Europe  in  those  days.  I  am  not 
speaking  of  the  war  and  the  Tuileries ;  apart  from  that,  I  knew 
that  all  Avould  pass  away,  the  whole  face  of  the  old  world  of 
Europe — sooner  or  later,  but  I,  as  a  Russian  European,  could  not 
accept  it.     Yes,  they  had  only  just  burnt  the  Tuileries.  .  .  . 

"  Oh,  rest  assured,  I  know  it  was  logical;  I  quite  understand 
the  irresistible  force  of  the  idea,  but  as  the  bearer  of  the  idea  of 
the  highest  Russian  culture,  I  could  not  accept  it,  for  the  highest 
Russian  thought  is  the  reconciliation  of  ideas,  and  who  in  the 

462 


whole  world  could  understand  such  a  thought  at  that  time; 
I  was  a  solitary  wanderer.  I  am  not  speaking  of  myself 
personally — it's  the  Russian  idea  I'm  speaking  of.  There  all 
was  strife  and  logic ;  there  the  Frenchman  was  nothing  but 
a  Frenchman,  the  German  was  nothing  but  a  German,  and  this 
more  intensely  so  than  at  any  time  in  their  whole  history ; 
consequently  never  had  the  Frenchman  done  so  much  harm  to 
France,  or  the  German  to  Germany,  as  just  at  that  time  !  In 
those  days  in  all  Europe  there  was  not  one  European  :  I  alone 
among  all  the  vitriol-throwers  could  have  told  them  to  their  face 
that  their  Tuileries  was  a  mistake.  And  I  alone  among  the 
avenging  reactionists  could  have  told  them  that  the  Tuileries, 
although  a  crime,  was  none  the  less  logical.  And  that,  my  boy, 
was  because  I,  as  a  Russian,  was  the  only  European  in  Russia. 
I  am  not  talking  of  myself,  I  am  talking  of  the  whole  Russian  idea. 
I  have  been  a  wanderer,  my  boy.  I  was  a  wanderer,  and  I  knew 
well  that  I  must  wander  and  be  silent.  But  yet  I  was  sad.  I 
cannot  help  respecting  my  position  as  a  Russian  nobleman.  My 
boy,  I  believe  you  are  laughing  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  laughing,"  I  said  in  a  voice  full  of  feeling,  "  I'm 
not  laughing  at  all;  you  thrilled  my  heart  by  your  vision  of 
*  The  Golden  Age,'  and,  I  assure  you,  I'm  beginning  to  understand 
you.  But,  above  all,  I'm  glad  that  you  have  such  a  respect  for 
yourself.     I  hasten  to  tell  you  so .     I  never  expected  that  of  you  !  ' ' 

"  I've  told  you  already  that  I  love  your  exclamations,  dear 
boy,"  he  smiled  again  at  my  naive  exclamation,  and  getting  up 
from  his  chair,  began  unconsciously  walking  up  and  down  the 
room.  I,  too,  got  up.  He  went  on  talking  in  his  strange  language 
which  was  yet  so  deeply  pregnant  with  thought. 


"  Yes,  boy,  I  tell  you  again,  I  cannot  help  respecting  my 
position  as  a  Russian  nobleman.  Among  us  has  been  created 
by- the  ages,  a  type  of  the  highest  culture  never  seen  before,  and 
existing  nowhere  else  in  the  world — the  type  of  world-wide 
compassion  for  all.  It  is  a  Russian  type,  but  since  it  is  taken 
from  the  most  highly  cultured  stratum  of  the  Russian  people,  I 
have  the  honour  of  being  a  representative  of  it.  That  tзфe  is  the 
custodian  of  the  future  of  Russia.  There  are,  perhaps,  only  a 
thousand  of  us  in  Russia,  possibly  more,  possibly  less — but  all 

463 


Russia  has  existed,  so  far,  only  to  produce  that  thousand.  I  shall 
be  told  with  indignation  that  the  result  is  poor,  if  so  many  ages 
and  so  many  milUons  of  people  have  been  spent  to  produce  only 
this  thousand.     I  don't  think  it  Uttle." 

I  listened  with  strained  attention.  A  conviction,  the  guiding 
principle  of  a  whole  life,  was  emerging.  That  "  thousand  men  " 
made  his  personaUty  stand  out  in  such  strong  reUef  ! 

I  felt  that  his  expansiveness  with  me  was  due  to  some  external 
shock.  He  talked  so  warmly  to  me  because  he  loved  me  ;  but 
the  reason  he  had  suddenly  begun  to  talk,  and  the  reason  he  so 
wanled  to  talk  to  me  especially,  I  could  not  guess. 

"  I  emigrated,"  he  went  on  ;  "  and  I  regretted  nothing  I  had 
left  behind.  I  had  served  Russia  to  the  utmost  of  my  abilities 
as  long  as  I  was  there  ;  when  I  went  away  I  went  on  serving  her, 
too,  but  in  a  wider  sense.  But  serving  her  in  that  way  I  served 
her  far  more  than  if  I  had  remained  only  a  Russian,  just  as  the 
Frenchman  at  that  time  was  a  Frenchman,  and  a  German  only  a 
German.  In  Europe  they  don't  imderstand  that  yet.  Europe 
has  created  a  noble  type  of  Frenchman,  of  Englishman,  and  of 
German,  but  of  the  man  of  the  future  she  scarcely  knows  at 
present.  And,  I  fancy,  so  far  she  does  not  want  to  know.  And  that 
one  can  well  imagine  ;  they  are  not  free  and  we  are  free.  I,  with 
my  Russian  melancholy,  was  the  only  one  free  in  Europe.  .  .  . 

"  Take  note,  my  dear,  of  a  strange  fact :  every  Frenchman 
can  serve  not  only  his  France,  but  humanity,  only  on  condition 
that  he  remains  French  to  the  utmost  possible  degree,  and  it's  the 
same  for  the  Englishman  and  the  Grerman.  Only  to  the  Russian, 
even  in  our  day,  has  been  vouchsafed  the  capacity  to  become 
most  of  all  Russian  only  when  he  is  most  European,  and  this  is 
true  even  in  our  day,  that  is,  long  before  the  millennium  has 
been  reached.  That  is  the  most  essential  difference  between 
us  Russians  and  all  the  rest,  and  in  that  respect  the  position  in 
Russia  is  as  nowhere  else.  I  am  in  France  a  Frenchman,  with  a 
German  I  am  a  German,  with  the  ancient  Greeks  I  am  a  Greek, 
and  by  that  very  fact  I  am  most  typically  a  Russian.  By  that 
very  fact  I  am  a  true  Russian,  and  am  most  truly  serving  Russia, 
for  I  am  bringing  out  her  leading  idea.  I  am  a  pioneer  of  that 
idea.  I  was  an  emigrant  then,  but  had  I  forsaken  Russia  ?  No, 
I  was  still  serving  her.  What  though  I  did  nothing  in  Europe, 
what  if  I  only  went  there  as  a  wanderer  (indeed,  I  know  that  was 
so)  it  was  enough  that  I  went  there  with  my  thought  and  ray 
consciousness.    I  carried  thither  my  Russian  melancholy.    Oh, 

464 


it  was  not  only  the  bloodshed  in  those  days  that  appalled  me,  and 
it  was  not  the  Tuileries,  but  all  that  was  bound  to  follow  it. 
They  are  doomed  to  strife  for  a  long  time  yet,  because  they  are 
still  too  German  and  too  French,  and  have  not  yet  finished  strug- 
gling in  those  national  characters.  And  I  regret  the  destruction 
that  must  come  before  they  have  finished.  To  the  Russian,  Euroi)e 
is  as  precious  as  Russia  :  every  stone  in  her  is  cherished  and  dear. 
Europe  is  as  much  our  fatherland  as  Russia.  Oh,  even  more  so. 
No  one  could  love  Russia  more  than  I  do,  but  I  never  reproached 
myself  that  Venice,  Rome,  Paris,  the  treasures  of  their  arts  and 
sciences,  their  whole  history,  are  dearer  to  me  than  Russia.  Oh, 
those  old  stones  of  foreign  lands,  those  wonders  of  God's  ancient 
world,  those  fragments  of  holy  marvels  are  dear  to  the  Russian,  and 
are  even  dearer  to  us  than  to  the  inhabitants  of  those  lands  them- 
selves !  They  now  have  other  thoughts  and  other  feelings,  and 
they  have  ceased  to  treasure  the  old  stones.  .  .  .  There  the 
conservative  struggles  only  for  existence  ;  and  the  vitriol -thrower 
is  only  fighting  for  a  crust  of  bread.  Only  Russia  lives  not  for 
herself,  but  for  an  idea,  and,  you  must  admit,  my  dear,  the 
remarkable  fact  that  for  almost  the  last  hvmdred  years  Russia 
has  lived  absolutely  not  for  herself,  but  only  for  the  other  States 
of  Europe  !  And,  what  of  them  !  Oh,  they  are  doomed  to  pass 
though  fearful  agonies  before  they  attain  the  Kingdom  of  God." 

I  must  confess  I  listened  in  great  perplexity  ;  the  very  tone  of 
his  talk  alarmed  me,  though  I  could  not  help  being  impressed  by 
his  ideas.  I  was  morbidly  afraid  of  falsity.  I  suddenly  observed 
in  a  stem  voice  : 

"  You  spoke  just  now  of  the  '  Kingdom  of  God.'  I've  heard 
that  you  used  to  preach,  used  to  wear  chains  ?  " 

"  Let  my  chains  alone,"  he  said  with  a  smile  :  "  that's  quite  a 
different  matter.  I  did  not  preach  anything  in  those  days,  but 
that  I  grieved  for  their  God,  that  is  true.  Atheism  was  pro- 
claimed .  .  .  only  by  one  group  of  them,  but  that  made  no 
difference  ;  it  was  only  the  hot-heads,  but  it  was  the  first  active 
step — that's  what  mattered.  In  that,  too,  you  have  their  logic  ; 
but  there's  always  melancholy  in  logic.  I  was  the  outcome  of  a 
different  culture,  and  my  heart  could  not  accept  it.  The  in- 
gratitude with  which  they  parted  from  the  idea,  the  hisses  and 
pelting  with  mud  were  intolerable  to  me.  The  brutality  of  the 
process  shocked  me.  Reality  always  has  a  smack  of  the  brutal 
about  it,  even  when  there's  an  unmistakable  striving  towards  the 
ideal,  and,  of  course,  I  ought  to  have  known  that ;  but  yet  I  was 

465 


a  man  of  another  type  ;  I  was  free  to  choose,  and  they  were  not, 
and  I  wept,  I  wept  for  them,  I  wept  for  the  old  idea.  And  I  wept, 
perhaps,  with  real  tears,  with  no  figure  of  speech." 

"  Did  you  believe  so  much  in  God  ?  "  I  asked  incredulously. 

"  My  dear  boy,  that  question,  perhaps,"ls  unnecessary.  Sup- 
posing I  did  not  believe  very  much,  yet  I  could  not  help  grieving 
for  the  idea.  I  could  not  help  wondering,  at  times,  how  man 
could  live  without  God,  and  whether  that  will  ever  be  possible. 
My  heart  always  decided  that  it  was  impossible  ;  but  at  a  certain 
period  perhaps  it  is  possible  ...  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is  coming  ; 
but  I  always  imagined  a  different  picture.  .  .  ." 

"  What  picture  ?  " 

It  was  true  that  he  had  told  me  before  that  he  was  happy  ; 
there  was,  of  course,  a  great  deal  of  enthusiasm  in  his  words  ; 
that  is  how  I  take  a  great  deal  that  he  said.  Respecting  him  as  I 
do,  I  can't  bring  myself  to  record  here,  on  paper,  aU  our  conversa- 
tion ;  but  some  points  in  the  strange  picture  I  succeeded  in  getting 
out  of  him  I  will  quote.  What  had  always  worried  me  most  was 
the  thought  of  those  "  chains,"  and  I  wanted  to  clear  up  the 
matter  now,  and  so  I  persisted.  Some  fantastic  and  extremely 
strange  ideas,  to  which  he  gave  utterance  then,  have  remained  in 
my  heart  for  ever. 

"  I  picture  to  myself,  my  boy,"  he  said  with  a  dreamy  smile, 
"  that  war  is  at  an  end  and  strife  has  ceased.  After  curses, 
pelting  with  mud,  and  hisses,  has  come  a  lull,  and  men  are  left 
alone,  according  to  their  desire  :  the  great  idea  of  old  has  left 
them  ;  the  great  source  of  strength  that  till  then  had  nourished 
and  fostered  them  was  vanishing  like  the  majestic  sim  setting 
in  Claude  Lorraine's  picture,  but  it  was  somehow  the  last  day  of 
humanity,  and  men  suddenly  understood  that  they  were  left  quite 
alone,  and  at  once  felt  terribly  forlorn.  I  have  never,  my  dear 
boy,  been  able  to  picture  men  imgrateful  and  grown  stupid. 
Men  left  forlorn  would  begin  to  draw  together  more  closely  and 
more  lovingly  ;  they  would  clutch  one  another's  hands,  realizing 
that  they  were  all  that  was  left  for  one  another  !  The  great  idea 
of  immortality  would  have  vanished,  and  they  would  have  to  fill 
its  place  ;  and  all  the  wealth  of  love  lavished  of  old  upon  Him, 
who  was  immortal,  would  be  turned  upon  the  whole  of  nature, 
on  the  world,  on  men,  on  every  blade  of  grass.  They  would 
inevitably  grow  to  love  the  earth  and  life  as  they  gradually 
became  aware  of  their  own  transitory  and  finite  nature,  and  with 
a  special  love,  not  as  of  old,  they  would  begin  to  observe  and 

466 


would  discover  in  nature  phenomena  and  secrets  which  they  had 
Dot  suspected  before,  for  they  would  look  on  nature  with  new 
eyes,  as  a  lover  looking  on  his  beloved.  On  awakening  they 
would  hasten  to  kiss  one  another,  eager  to  love,  knowing  that 
the  days  are  short,  and  that  is  all  that  is  left  them.  They  would 
work  for  one  another,  and  each  would  give  up  all  that  he  had  to 
all,  and  by  that  only  would  be  happy.  Every  child  would  know 
and  feel  that  every  one  on  earth  was  for  him  like  a  father  or 
mother.  '  To-morrow  may  be  my  last  day,'  each  one  would  think, 
looking  at  the  setting  sim  ;  '  but  no  matter,  I  shall  die,  but  all 
they  will  remain  and  after  them  their  children,'  and  that  thought 
that  they  will  remain,  always  as  loving  and  as  anxious  over  each 
other,  would  replace  the  thought  of  meeting  beyond  the  tomb. 
Oh,  they  would  be  in  haste  to  love,  to  stifle  the  great  sorrow  in 
their  hearts.  They  would  be  proud  and  brave  for  themselves, 
but  would  grow  timid  for  one  another  ;  every  one  would  tremble 
for  the  life  and  happiness  of  each  ;  they  would  grow  tender  to  one 
another,  and  would  not  be  ashamed  of  it  as  now,  and  would 
be  caressing  as  children.  Meeting,  they  would  look  at  one  another 
with  deep  and  thoughtful  eyes,  and  in  their  eyes  would  be  love 
and  sorrow.  .  .  . 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  broke  off  with  a  smile,  "  this  is  a  fantasy 
and  a  most  improbable  one  ;  but  I  have  pictured  it  to  myself  so 
often,  for  all  my  life  I  could  not  have  lived  without  it,  and  the 
thought  of  it.  I  am  not  speaking  of  my  belief  :  my  faith  is  great, 
I  am  a  deist,  a  philosophic  deist,  like  all  the  thousand  of  us  I 
imagine,  but  .  .  .  but  it's  noteworthy  that  I  alwaj'S  complete 
my  picture  with  Heine's  vision  of  '  Christ  on  the  Baltic  Sea.' 
I  could  not  get  on  without  Him,  I  could  not  help  imagining  Him, 
in  fact,  in  the  midst  of  His  bereaved  people.  He  comes  to  them, 
holds  out  His  hands,  and  asks  them,  '  How  could  they  forget 
Him  ?  '  And  then,  as  it  were,  the  scales  would  fall  from  their 
eyes  and  there  would  break  forth  the  great  rapturous  hymn  of  the 
new  and  the  last  resurrection  .  .  . 

"  Enough  of  that,  my  dear  ;  but  my  '  chains  '  are  all  nonsense  ; 
don't  trouble  уош"  mind  about  them.  And  another  thing  : 
you  know  that  I  am  modest  and  sober  of  speech  ;  if  I'm  talking 
too  freely  now,  it's  .  .  .  due  to  various  feelings,  and  it's  with 
you  ;  to  no  one  else  shall  I  ever  speak  like  this.  I  add  this  to  set 
your  mind  at  rest." 

But  I  was  really  touched  ;  there  was  none  of  the  falsity  I  had 
dreaded,  and  I  was  particularly  delighted  to  see  clearly  that  he 

467 


really  had  been  melancholy  and  suffering,  and  that  ho  really, 
undoubtedly,  had  loved  much,  and  that  was  more  precious  to  me 
than  anything.     I  told  him  this  with  impulsive  eagerness. 

"  But  do  you  know,"  I  added  suddenly,  "  it  seems  to  me  that 
in  spite  of  all  your  melancholy  in  those  days  you  must  have  been 
very  happy  ?  " 

He  laughed  gaily. 

"  You  are  particularly  apt  in  your  remarks  to-day."  he  said. 
"  Well,  yes,  I  was  happy.  How  could  I  be  unhappy  with  a  melan- 
choly Hke  that  ?  No  one  is  freer  and  happier  than  a  Russian 
wanderer  in  Europe,  one  of  our  thousand.  I  am  not  laughing 
when  I  say  that,  and  there's  a  great  deal  that's  serious  in  it. 
And  I  would  not  have  given  up  my  melancholy  for  any  happiness. 
In  that  sense  I've  always  been  happy,  my  dear,  all  my  life.  And 
through  being  happy  I  began  then,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
really  to  love  your  mother." 

"  How  do  you  mean  for  the  first  time  in  your  life  ?  " 

"  It  was  just  that.  Wandering  and  melancholy,  I  suddenly 
began  to  love  her  as  I  had  never  loved  her  before,  and  I  sent  for 
her  at  once." 

"  Oh,  tell  me  about  that,  too,  tell  me  about  mother." 

"  Yes,  that's  why  I  asked  you  here,"  he  smiled  gaily.  "  And 
do  you  know  I  was  afraid  that  you'd  forgiven  the  way  I  tfeated 
your  mother  for  the  sake  of  Herzen,  or  some  little  conspiracy. . . ." 


CHAPTER   VIII 


As  we  talked  the  whole  evening  and  stayed  together  till  midnight, 
I  am  not  recording  the  whole  conversation,  but  am  only  selecting 
what  cleared  up  for  me  one  enigmatic  point  in  his  life. 

I  will  begin  by  saying  that  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  loved  my 
mother,  and  though  he  did  abandon  her  and  "  break  off  all 
relations  with  her  "  when  he  went  away,  it  was,  of  course,  only 
because  he  was  bored  or  something  of  that  kind,  which  is  apt  to 
happen  indeed  to  every  one  on  earth,  but  whi<;h  is  always  difficult 
to  explain.  Abroad,  after  some  length  of  time,  however,  he 
suddenly  began  to  love  mother  again,  at  a  distance,  that  is  in 
thought,  and  sent  for  her.  I  shall  be  told  perha])s  that  it  was  a 
"  caprice,"  but  1  think  differently  :  to  my  mind  it  was  a  question 

468 


of  all  that  can  be  serious  in  human  life,  in  spite  of  the  apparent 
sloppiness  which  I  am  ready,  if  you  like,  to  some  extent  to  admit. 
But  I  swear  that  I  put  his  grieving  for  Europe  unmistakably  on 
a  level  with,  and  in  fact  incomparably  higher  than,  any  modem 
practical  activity  in  the  construction  of  railways.  His  love 
for  humanity  I  recognize  as  a  most  sincere  and  deep  feeling, 
free  from  any  sort  of  pose,  and  his  love  for  mother  as  something 
quite  beyond  dispute,  though  perhaps  a  little  fantastic.  Abroad, 
in  melancholy  and  happiness,  and  I  may  add  in  the  strictest 
monastic  solitude  (this  fact  I  learned  afterwards  through  Tatyana 
Pavlovna),  he  suddenly  thought  of  mother — to  be  exact,  thought 
of  her  "  hollow  cheeks,"  and  at  once  sent  for  her. 

"  My  dear,"  he  blurted  out  among  other  things,  "  I  suddenly 
reflected  that  my  serving  the  idea  did  not  release  me,  as  a 
morally  rational  creature,  from  the  duty  of  making,  in  the  course 
of  my  life,  at  least  one  fellow-creature  happy,  in  a  practical 
way. 

"  Can  such  a  bookish  thought  have  really  been  the  reason  of 
it  ?  "  I  asked  him  with  surprise. 

"  It's  not  a  bookish  thought.  Though — perhaps  it  is.  It  was 
everything  together  ;  you  know  I  loved  your  mother  really, 
sincerely,  not  bookishly.  If  I  hadn't  loved  her,  I  shouldn't 
have  sent  for  her,  but  should  have  made  happy  some  casual 
German,  man  or  woman,  if  I  had  formulated  that  thought.  To 
make  in  one's  lifetime  at  least  one  fellow-creature  happy,  in 
a  practical  way,  that  is  really  happy,  I  would  make  a  binding 
duty  for  every  educated  man  ;  just  as  I  would  make  it  a  law  or 
an  obligation  for  every  peasant  to  plant  at  least  one  tree  in  his 
life  to  counteract  the  deforestation  of  Russia  ;  though  indeed 
one  tree  in  one's  lifetime  isn't  much,  one  might  order  him  to 
plant  one  every  year.  The  man  of  higher  education  and  culture, 
pm^uing  higher  ideas,  sometimes  loses  sight  of  reality  altogether 
becomes  ridiculous,  capricious  and  cold,  and  indeed  I  may  say 
stupid,  not  only  in  practical  life  but  in  theory.  The  duty  not 
to  neglect  practice  and  to  make  at  least  one  real  person  happy 
would  correct  everything  and  would  give  fresh  life  even  to  the 
philanthropist  himself. 

"  As  a  theory  this  is  very  absurd ;  but  if  it  were  adopted  in 
practice  and  became  a  habit,  it  would  not  be  stupid  at  all.  I 
have  experienced  it  myself  :  so  soon  as  I  began  to  develop  this 
idea  of  a  new  creed,  and  at  first  of  course  in  jest,  I  suddenly 
began  to  realize  the  depth  of  the  love  for  your  mother  that  lay 

469 


hidden  ш  my  heart.  Until  then  I  had  not  understood  that  I 
loved  her.  While  I  lived  with  her  I  was  only  charmed  with  her 
while  she  was  pretty,  then  I  began  to  be  moody  and  changeable. 
It  was  only  in  Germany  that  I  understood  that  I  loved  her. 
It  began  with  her  hollow  cheeks,  of  which  I  could  never  think, 
and  sometimes  not  even  see,  without  a  pain  in  my  heart,  real 
physical  pain.  There  are  memories  that  hurt,  my  dear,  that 
cause  actual  pain.  Almost  everyone  has  some  such  memories, 
only  people  forget  them,  but  it  does  happen  that  they  suddenly 
recall  them,  or  perhaps  only  some  feature  of  them,  and  then 
they  cannot  shake  them  off.  I  began  to  recall  a  thousand 
details  of  my  life  with  Sonia.  In  the  end  they  recalled  them- 
selves, and  came  crowding  on  my  mind,  and  almost  tortured 
me  while  I  was  waiting  for  her  coming.  What  distressed  me 
most  of  all  was  the  memory  of  her  everlasting  submissiveness 
to  me,  and  the  way  she  continually  thought  herself  inferior  to 
me,  in  every  respect,  even — imagine  it — physically  ;  she  was 
ashamed  and  flushed  crimson  when  I  looked  at  her  hands  and 
fingers,  which  were  by  no  means  aristocratic,  and  not  lier  fingers 
only — she  was  ashamed  of  everything  in  herself,  in  spite  of  my 
loving  her  beauty.  She  was  always  shrinkingly  modest  with 
me,  but  what  was  wrong  was  that  in  it  there  was  always  a 
sort  of  fear,  in  short  she  thought  herself  something  insignificant 
beside  me,  something  almost  unseemly  in  fact.  I  used  really 
sometimes  to  think  at  first  that  she  still  looked  upon  me  as  her 
master,  and  was  afraid  of  me,  but  it  was  not  that  at  all.  Yet, 
I  assure  you,  no  one  was  more  capable  of  understanding  my 
failings,  and  I  have  never  in  my  life  met  a  woman  with  so  much 
insight  and  delicacy  of  heart.  Oh,  how  unhappy  she  was  if  I 
insisted  at  first,  when  she  was  so  pretty,  on  her  dressing  smartly ; 
it  was  a  question  of  vanity,  and  some  other  feeling,  that  was 
wounded.  She  realized  that  it  would  never  be  in  her  line  to 
be  a  lady,  and  that  in  any  dress  but  her  o\^ti  she  would  simply 
be  ridiculous.  As  a  woman  she  did  not  want  to  be  ridiculous 
in  her  dress,  and  knew  that  every  woman  has  her  own  style  of 
dress,  which  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  women 
will  never  understand — so  long  as  they  are  dressed  in  the  fashion. 
She  feared  my  ironical  looks — that  was  what  she  feared  ! 

"  But  it  was  particularly  sad  for  me  to  recall  the  look  of  deep 
amazement  which  I  often  caught  fixed  upon  me,  during  the  time 
we  were  together  :  in  her  eyes  there  was  the  fullest  comprehension 
of  her  lot  and  of   the  future   awaiting  her,  so  that  I  too  felt 

470 


weighed  down,  by  that  look  in  them,  though  I  must  admit,  in 
those  days,  I  did  not  discuss  things  with  her,  and  treated  all  this 
somewhat  disdainfully.     And,    you    know,  she    wasn't    alwaj's 
such  a   timorous,  shy   creature  as  she   is    now  ;    even  now  it 
happens  that  she  will  all  at  once  grow  gay,  and  look  as  prett}' 
as  a  girl  of  twenty  ;    and  in   those  days  in  her  youth  she  was 
very  fond  of  chattering  and  laughing,  only  with  people  she  was 
at  home  with,  with  girls  and  women  belonging  to  the  household  ; 
and  how  she  started  if  I  came  on  her  unawares,  if  she  were 
laughing,  how  she  blushed,  and  how  timorously  she  looked  at 
me  !     Once,  not  long  before  I  went  abroad,  almost  on  the  eve  of 
my  breaking  off  all  relations  with  her,  in  fact,  I  went  into  her 
room  and  found  her  alone,  at  a  little  table,  without  any  work 
in  her  hands,  but  deep  in  thought,  resting  her  elbow  on  the 
table.     It  had  hardly  ever  happened  to  her  before  to  sit  without 
work,     i^t  that  time  I  had  quite  given  up  showing  her  affection. 
I  succeeded  in  stealing  in  very  quietly,  on  tiptoe,  and  suddenly 
embracing  and  kissing  her.  .  .  .  She  leapt  up — and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  rapture,  the  bliss  in  her  eyes,  and    suddenly  it  was 
succeeded  by  a  swift  rush  of  colour,  and  her  eyes  flashed.     Do 
you  know  what  I  read  in  those  flashing  eyes  ?     *  You  are  kissing 
me    as    a    charity — that's    what    it    is  !  '     She    began    sobbing 
hysterically,  making  the  excuse  that  I  had  startled  her,  but  even 
at  the  time  it  made  me  think.     And,  in  fact,  all  such  reminis- 
cences are  very  dreary  things,  dear  boy.     It's  like  those  painful 
scenes  which  you  sometimes  find  in  the  works  of  great  artists, 
which  one  remembers  ever  afterwards  with  pain ;  for  instance, 
Othello's  last  monologue  in  Shakespeare,   Yevgeny,  at  the  feet 
of   Tatyana,  or  the  meeting  of   the  runaway  convict  with  the 
little  girl  on  the  cold  night  at  the  well,  in  '  Les  Miserables '  of 
Victor  Hugo  ;  it  stabs  the  heart  once  for  all,  and  leaves  a  wound 
for  ever.     Oh,  how  eager  I  was  for  Sonia  to  come  and  how  I 
longed  to  hold  her  in  my  arms  !     I  dreamed  with  feverish  im- 
patience of  a  complete  new  programme  of  existence  ;   I  dreamed 
that  gradually,  by  systematic  efforts,  I  would  break  down  that 
constant  fear  of  me  in  her  soul,  would  make  her  appreciate  her 
own  value,  and  all  in  which  she  was  actually  superior  to  me. 
Oh,  I  knew  quite  well,  even  then,  that  I  always  began  to  love 
3'our  mother  as  soon  as  we  were  parted,  and  always  grew  cold 
to  her  at  once  as  soon   as  we  were  together  again  ;    but  that 
time,  it  was  different,  then  it  was  different." 

I  was  astonished  :  "  And  she  ?  "  the  idea  flashed  across  me. 

471 


"  Well,  and  how  did  mother  and  you  meet  then  ?  "  I  asked 
cautiously. 

"  Then  ?  Oh,  we  didn't  meet  then  at  all.  She  only  got  as 
far  as  Konigsberg,  and  stopped  there,  and  I  was  on  the  Rhine. 
I  didn't  go  to  her,  and  I  told  her  to  stay  there  and  wait.  We 
only  saw  each  other  again  long  after,  oh,  long  after,  when  I  went 
to  her  to  ask  her  to  consent  to  my  marriage.  .  .  ." 


2 

Now  I'm  coming  to  the  core  of  it  all,  that  is,  as  far  as  I  was 
able  to  grasp  it  myself  ;  for,  indeed,  his  own  account  began  to 
be  somewhat  disconnected.  His  talk  became  ten  times  as 
incoherent  and  rambling  as  soon  as  he  reached  this  part  of  the 
story. 

He  met  Katerina  Nikolaevna  suddenly,  just  when  he  was 
expecting  mother,  at  the  moment  of  most  impatient  expectation. 
They  were  all,  at  the  time,  on  the  Rhine,  at  some  spa,  all  drinking 
the  waters.  Katerina  NikoJaevna's  husband  was  by  then  almost 
dying,  he  had,  at  any  rate,  been  given  up  by  the  doctors.  She 
made  an  impression  on  him  at  the  first  meeting,  as  it  were  cast 
a  sort  of  spell  upon  him.  It  was  a  case  of  fate.  It's  remarkable 
that  recalling  it  and  writing  it  down  now,  I  don't  remember 
that  he  once  used  the  word  "  love  "  in  connection  with  her,  or 
spoke  of  "  being  in  love."     The  word  "  fate  "  I  remember. 

And,  of  course,  it  was  fate.  He  did  not  choose  it,  "  he  did  not 
want  to  love  her."  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  give  a  clear 
account  of  it,  but  his  whole  soul  was  in  revolt  at  the  fact  that 
this  could  have  happened  to  him.  Everything  in  him  that  was 
free  was  annihilated  by  this  meeting.  And  the  man  was  fettered 
for  life  to  a  woman  who  had  really  nothing  to  do  with  him.  He 
did  not  desire  this  slavery  of  passion.  To  state  the  fact  plainly, 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  is  a  type  rare  amongst  society  women — a 
type  perhaps  unique  in  that  circle.  That  is,  she  is  an  extremely 
good-natured  and  straightforward  woman.  I've  heard,  indeed 
I  know  for  a  fact  that  this  was  what  made  her  irresistible  in 
the  fashionable  world  whenever  she  made  her  appearance  in 
it.     (She  used  at  times  to  withdraw  into  complete  seclusion.) 

Versilov  did  not  believe,  of  course,  when  he  first  met  her,  that 
she  was  like  that ;  in  fact,  he  believed  she  was  the  exact  opposite, 
that  she  was  a  hypocrite  and   a  Jesuit.     At  this  point  I  will 

472 


anticipate  by  quoting  her  own  criticism  of  him  :  she  declared 
that  he  could  not  help  thinking  what  he  did  of  her  "  because  an 
idealist  always  runs  his  head  against  reality  and  is  more  inclined 
than  other  people  to  assume  anything  horrid." 

I  don't  know  if  this  is  true  of  idealists  in  general,  but  it  was 
entirely  true  of  him,  no  doubt.  I  may  perhaps  add  here  my 
own  judgment,  which  flashed  across  my  mind  while  I  was 
listening  to  him  then  :  I  thought  that  he  loved  mother,  more  so 
to  say  with  the  humane  love  one  feels  for  all  mankind,  than  with 
the  simple  love  with  which  women  are  loved  as  a  rule,  and  that 
as  soon  as  he  met  a  woman  whom  he  began  to  love  with  that 
simple  love,  he  at  once  turned  against  that  love — most  probably 
because  the  feeling  was  new  to  him.  Perhaps,  though,  this  idea 
is  incorrect ;  I  did  not  of  course  utter  it  to  him.  It  would  have 
been  indelicate,  and  he  really  was  in  such  a  condition  that  it 
was  almost  necessary  to  spare  him  :  he  was  agitated ;  at  some 
points  in  his  story  he  simply  broke  ofiF,  and  was  silent  for  some 
moments,  walking  about  the  room  with  a  vindictive  face. 

She  soon  divined  his  secret.  Oh,  perhaps  she  flirted  with  him 
on  purpose  ;  even  the  most  candid  women  are  base  in  these 
cases,  and  it  is  their  overwhelming  instinct.  It  ended  in  a 
rupture  full  of  rankling  bitterness,  and  I  believe  he  tried  to  kill 
her  ;  he  frightened  her,  and  would  have  killed  her,  perhaps, 
"  but  it  was  all  tiu-ncd  to  hatred."  Then  there  came  a  strange 
period  :  he  was  suddenly  possessed  by  the  strange  idea  of 
torturing  himself  by  a  discipline,  "  the  same  as  that  used  by  the 
monks.  Gradually,  by  systematic  practice,  you  overcome  your 
will,  beginning  with  the  most  absurd  and  trivial  things,  and  end  by 
conquering  youi*  will  completely,  and  become  free."  He  added 
that  this  practice  of  the  monks  is  a  serious  thing ;  in  the  course 
of  a  thousand  years  it  has  been  brought  by  them  to  a  science. 
But  what  is  most  remarkable  is  that  he  gave  himself  up  to  this 
idea  of  discipline,  not  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  image  of  Katerina 
Nikolaevna,  but  in  the  full  conviction  that  he  had  not  only 
ceased  to  love  her,  but  hated  her.  He  so  thoroughly  believed 
in  his  hatred  for  her  as  to  conceive  the  idea  of  loving  and  marry- 
ing her  step-daughter,  who  had  been  seduced  by  Prince  Sergay, 
to  persuade  himself  absolutely  of  this  new  love,  and  to  win  the 
poor  imbecile's  heart  completely,  by  his  devotion  making  her 
perfectly  happy.  Why,  instead  of  devoting  himself  to  her,  he 
did  not  think  of  mother,  who  was  all  this  time  waiting  for  him 
at  Konigsberg,   remained  for  me  inexplicable.  .  .  .  He  quite 

473 


forgot  mother,  indeed,  and  even  neglected  to  send  money  for 
her  maintenance,  so  that  Tatyana  Pavlovna  bad  to  come  to  her 
rescue  ;  yet  finally  he  did  go  to  mother  "  to  ask  her  permission  " 
to  marry  the  young  lady,  pleading  that  "  such  a  bride  was  not 
a  woman."  Oh,  perhaps  all  this  is  only  a  portrait  of  a  theoretical 
man,  as  Katerina  Nikolaevna  said  of  him  later.  But  why  is  it, 
though,  that  these  theoretical  people  (if  they  really  are  theoretical 
people)  are  capable  of  such  very  real  suffering,  and  end  in  such 
very  real  tragedy  ?  On  that  evening,  however,  I  looked  at  it 
differently,  and  I  was  disturbed  by  the  thought  : 

"  All  your  development,  your  whole  soul,  has  been  won  by 
the  suffering  and  the  struggle  of  your  whole  life,  while  her 
perfection  has  cost  her  nothing.  That's  unjust.  .  .  .  Woman 
is  revolting  in  that  way."  I  said  this  wirfiout  the  least  inten- 
tion of  flattering  him,  speaking  with  warmth  and  indignation. 

"  Perfection  ?  Her  perfection  ?  But  she  has  no  sort  of 
perfection  !  "  he  said  suddenly,  seeming  almost  surprised  at  my 
words.  "  She  is  the  most  ordinary  woman,  she  is  really  a 
contemptible  woman.  .  .  .  But  she  is  bound  to  have  every 
perfection  !  " 

"  Why  is  she  bound  to  ?  " 

"  Because  she  has  such  power,  she  is  bound  to  have  every 
sort  of  perfection  !  "  he  cried  vindictively. 

*'  The  saddest  thing  is  that  you  are  so  harassed  evert  now," 
I  could  not  help  blurting  out  suddenly. 

"  How  harassed  !  "  he  repeated  my  words  again,  standing 
still  before  me  as  though  in  some  perplexity.  And  suddenly 
a  slow,  gentle,  dreamy  smile  lighted  up  his  whole  face,  and  he 
held  up  his  finger  as  though  considering.  Then  as  though 
waking  up,  he  took  from  the  table  an  open  letter,  and  flung  it 
down  in  front  of  me. 

"  Read  it !  You  must  know  everything  .  .  .  and  why  have 
you  made  me  rake  up  all  this  bygone  foolishness  ?  ...  It  has 
only  roused  up  nasty  and  spiteful  feelings  in  my  heart.  ..." 

I  cannot  describe  my  astonishment.  The  letter  was  from 
her  to  him,  received  by  him  that  afternoon  at  five  o'clock.  I 
read  it,  almost  shaking  with  emotion.  It  was  not  long,  and  was 
written  so  simply  and  straightforwardly,  that  as  I  read  it  I 
seemed  to  see  her  before  me  and  hear  her  words.  With  the 
most  simple  truthfulness  (and  so  almost  touchingly)  she  con- 
fessed her  terror,  and  then  simply  besought  him  to  "  leave  her 
in  peace."     In  conclusion,  she  told  him  that  she  definitely  was 

474 


to  marry  Btiring.  Till  then  she  had  never  written  a  word  to 
him. 

And  this  is  what  I  could  make  out  of  his  explanation : 

As  soon  as  he  had  read  the  letter  that  day,  he  was  aware  of 
a  new  sensation  :  for  the  first  time  in  those  fatal  two  years  he 
felt  not  the  sUghtest  hatred  for  her,  or  the  slightest  shock  of 
emotion,  such  as  had  "  driven  him  out  of  his  mind"  at  a  mere 
rumour  of  Btiring.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  sent  her  my  blessing, 
with  perfect  sincerity,"  he  told  me,  with  deep  feeling.  I  heard 
these  words  with  ecstasy.  Then  all  the  passion  and  agony  that 
had  possessed  him  had  vanished  all  at  once  of  itself,  like  a  dream, 
like  an  obsession  that  had  lasted  two  years.  Hardly  yet  able  to 
beUeve  in  himself  he  hastened  to  mother's  and — arrived  at  the 
very  moment  when  she  was  set  free  by  the  death  of  the  old  man 
who  had  bequeathed  her  to  him.  The  coincidence  of  these 
two  events  had  deeply  stirred  his  soul.  Not  long  afterwards 
he  rushed  to  find  me — and  that  immediate  thought  of  me  I 
shall  never  forget. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  end  of  that  evening  either.  The 
whole  man  was  suddenly  transformed  again.  We  did  not 
separate  till  late  at  night.  The  effect  that  all  he  told  me 
had  upon  me  I  will  describe  later,  in  its  proper  place,  and  will 
confine  myself  now  to  a  few  words,  in  conclusion,  about  him. 
Kcflecting  upon  it  now,  I  realize  that  what  captivated  me  so 
much  at  the  time  was  his  humility,  so  to  speak,  with  me,  his 
frank  sincerity  with  a  boy  like  me  !  "It  was  infatuation,  but  my 
blessings  on  it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "But  for  that  blind  obsession 
I  might  perhaps  have  never  discovered  in  my  Jieart  my  sole 
queen,  my  suffering  darling — ^your  mother."  These  passionate 
words,  wrung  from  him  by  over-mastering  feeling,  I  note 
particularly,  in  view  of  what  followed.  But  at  the  time  he 
gained  complete  possession  of  my  heart  and  conquered  it. 

I  remember  in  the  end  we  became  very  cheerful.  He  asked 
for  some  champagne,  and  we  drank  to  mother,  and  to  the 
"  future."  Oh,  he  was  so  full  of  life,  and  so  eager  to  live  !  But 
we  suddenly  became  extremely  merry,  not  from  the  wine  :  we 
only  drank  two  glasses.  I  don't  know  why,  but  in  the  end 
we  laughed  almost  helplessly.  We  began  talking  of  quite 
extraneous  matters  ;  he  began  telling  me  an  anecdote  and  I 
told  him  one.  And  our  laughter  and  our  anecdotes,  were  by 
no  means  malicious  or  amusing,  but  we  were  merry.  He  was 
unwilUng  to  let  me  go  :  "  Stay,  stay  a  little  longer,"  he  repeated, 

475 


and  I  stayed.  He  even  came  out  to  see  me  home  ;  it  was  an 
exquisite  evening,  with  a  slight  frost.  "  Tell  me,  have  you  sent 
her  an  answer  yet  ?  "  I  asked,  quite  casually,  as  I  pressed  his 
hand  for  the  last  time  at  the  cross  road. 

"  No,  not  yet,  but  that's  no  matter.  Come  to-morrow,  come 
early.  .  .  .  Oh,  and  another  thing  :  drop  Lambert  altogether 
and  tear  up  that  *  document,'  and  make  haste  about  it.  Good- 
bye !  " 

Saying  this  he  went  away  quickly  :  I  remained  standing  still, 
and  so  much  taken  aback  that  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  call 
after  him.  The  expression,  the  "  document,"  startled  me  particu- 
larly :  how  could  he  have  known  of  it,  and  that  particular  word 
too,  if  not  from  Lambert  ?  I  went  home  in  great  confusion. 
And  hoAv  can  it  have  happened,  the  question  flashed  upon  me 
suddenly,  that  such  an  obsession  for  two  years  can  have  vanished 
Uke  a  dream,  like  a  vapour,  like  a  phantom. 


CHAPTER  IX 

1 

Вот  I  waked  up  next  morning  feeling  fresher  and  in  better 
heart.  I  unconsciously  reproached  myself,  indeed,  with  peifect 
sincerity,  for  a  certain  levity,  and,  as  it  were,  superciliousness, 
with  which  it  seemed  to  me,  recalling  it,  I  had  listened  to  .some 
parts  of  his  "  confession "  the  evening  before.  Supposing  it 
had  been  to  some  extent  muddled,  and  some  revelations  had 
been,  as  it  were,  a  little  dehrious  and  incoherent,  he  had  not,  of 
course,  prepared  to  deliver  a  speech  when  he  invited  me  the 
day  before.  He  had  simply  done  me  a  great  honour  in  turning 
to  me,  as  his  one  friend  at  such  a  moment,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  hie  doing  it.  On  the  contrary,  his  confession  was 
"  touching,"  though  people  may  laugh  at  me  for  saying  so,  and 
if  there  were  glimpses  from  time  to  time  of  something  cynical, 
or  even  something  that  seemed  ridiculous,  I  was  not  so  narrow 
аз  to  be  unable  to  understand  and  accept  realism,  which  did 
not,  however,  detract  from  the  ideal.  The  great  point  was 
now  that  I  understood  the  man,  and  I  even  felt,  and  was  almost 
vexed  at  feeling,  that  it  had  all  turned  out  to  be  so  simple  : 
I  had  always  in  my  heart  set  that  man  on  a  supreme  pinnacle, 
in  the  clouds,  and  had  insisted  on  shrouding  his  life  in  mystery, 

476 


so  that  I   had  naturally  лу18Ье(1    not   to  fit  the   key  to  it  so 
easily. 

In  his  meeting  with  her,  however,  and  in  the  suffering-  he 
had  endured  for  two  years,  there  was  much  that  was  complex. 
"  He  did  not  want  to  live  under  the  yoke  of  fate  ;  he  wanted  to 
be  free,  and  not  a  slave  to  fate  ;  through  his  bondage  to  fate 
he  had  been  forced  to  hurt  mother,  who  was  still  waiting  for  him 
at  Konigsberg.  .  .  ."  Besides,  I  looked  upon  him  in  any  case  as 
a  preacher  :  he  cherished  in  his  heart  the  golden  age,  and  knew 
all  about  the  future  of  atheism  ;  and  then  the  meeting  with  her 
had  shattered  everything,  distorted  everything  !  Oh,  I  was  not 
a  traitor  to  her,  but  still  I  was  on  his  side,  Mother,  for  instance, 
I  reflected,  would  have  been  no  liindrance,  nor  would  marriage 
with  her  be  so  indeed.  That  I  understood  ;  that  \\as  some- 
thing utterly  different  from  his  meeting  with  that  woman. 
Mother,  it  is  true,  would  not  have  given  him  peace  either,  but 
that  was  all  the  better  :  one  cannot  judge  of  such  men  as  of 
others,  and  their  life  must  always  be  different ;  and  that's  not 
unseemly  at  all ;  on  the  contrary,  it  would  be  unseemly  if  they 
settled  down  and  became  altogether  like  other  ordinary  people. 
His  praises  of  the  nobility,  and  his  words  :  "  Je  mourrai 
gentilhomme,"  did  not  disconcert  me  in  the  least ;  I  understood 
what  sort  of  gentilhomme  he  was  ;  he  луаз  a  man  ready  to  aban- 
don ever3d:hing,  and  to  become  the  champion  of  pclitical  rights 
for  all,  and  the  leading  Russian  thought  of  a  universal  harmony 
of  ideas.  And  even  though  all  this  might  be  nonsense,  that  is 
"  the  universal  harmony  of  ideas  "  (which  is  of  course  incon- 
ceivable), yet  the  very  fact  that  he  had  all  his  life  bowed  doл\-n 
to  an  idea,  and  not  to  the  stupid  golden  calf,  was  good.  My 
God  !  why,  conceiving  "  my  idea,"  had  I,  I  myself — could  I — 
have  been  bowing  down  to  the  golden  calf,  could  I  have  been 
aiming  onlj'  at  money,  then  ?  I  swear  that  all  I  wanted  was 
the  idea  !  I  swear  I  would  not  have  had  one  chair,  one  sofa 
upholstered  in  velvet,  and  I  would  have  eaten  the  same  plate  of 
soup  as  now,  if  I  had  had  millions.  I  dressed  and  hurried  off 
impatiently  to  see  him.  I  may  add  that  in  regard  to  his  out- 
burst yesterday  about  the  "  document,"  I  was  ever  so  much 
more  at  ease  in  my  mind  than  I  had  been  the  day  before.  To 
begin  with,  I  hoped  to  have  it  out  with  him,  and  besides,  what 
was  there  in  Lambert's  having  wormed  his  way  in  to  him,  and 
having  talked  to  him  of  something  ?  But  what  rejoiced  me 
most  was  an  extraordinary  sensation  :  it  came  from  the  thought 

4V 


that  "he  no  longer  loved  her  "  ;  I  put  absolute  faith  in  it,  and 
felt  as  if  some  one  had  lifted  a  fearful  weight  ofiE  my  heart.  I 
recall  a  conjecture  that  flashed  upon  me  at  the  time  :  that  the 
unseemliness  and  senselessness  of  his  laat  violent  outbreak, 
on  hearing  about  Buring,  and  the  sending  of  that  insulting 
letter,  that  that  final  crisis  might  be  taken  as  a  sign  and  augury 
of  a  change  in  his  feeling,  and  an  approaching  return  to  sanity  ; 
it  must  be  as  it  is  in  illness,  I  thought,  and,  in  fact,  he  is  bound 
to  reach  the  opposite  extreme,  it  is  a  pathological  episode,  and 
nothing  more. 

This  thought  made  me  bappy. 

"  And  let  her  arrange  her  life  as  she  pleases,  let  her  marry 
her  Buring  as  much  as  she  likes,  so  long  as  he,  my  father,  my 
friend,  loves  her  no  longer,"  I  exclaimed. 

I  had,  however,  certain  secret  feelings  of  my  own,  on  which 
I  do  not  care  to  enlarge  in  my  notes  here. 

That's  enough.  And  now,  without  further  reflections,  I  will 
give  an  account  of  the  awful  event  that  followed,  and  how  the 
facts  worked  together  to  bring  it  about. 


At  ten  o'clock,  just  as  I  was  getting  ready  to  go  out,  to  see 
him  of  course,  Darya  Onisimovna  appeared.  I  asked  her 
joyfully  :  "  whether  she  came  from  him  ?  "  and  heard  Avith 
vexation  that  she  did  not  come  from  him,  but  from  Anna  Andrey- 
evna,  and  that  she,  Darya  Onisimovna,  "  had  left  the  lodging  as 
soon  as  it  was  light." 

"  What  lodging  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  same  where  you  were  yesterday.  You  know,  the 
lodging  where  you  were  yesterday,  where  the  baby  is  ;  it  is  taken 
in  my  name  now,  and  Tatyana  Pavlovna  pays  the  rent.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  well,  that's  nothing  to  me  !  "  I  interrupted  with  annoy- 
ance.    "  Is  he  at  home,  anyway  ?     Shall  I  find  him  ?  " 

And  to  my  surprise  I  heard  from  her  that  he  had  gone  out 
even  before  she  had  ;  so  she  had  gone  out  as  soon  as  it  was  light, 
and  he  had  gone  out  even  earlier. 

"  Then  has  he  come  back  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  he's  certainly  not  back  yet,  and  perhaps  he  won't  come 
back  at  all,"  she  declared,  turning  upon  me  the  same  sharp 
and  f urtivn  eye,  and  keeping  it  fixed  on  me,  as  she  had  done  on 

478 


the  occasion  I  have  described,  when  she  visited  me  as  I  lay  ill 
in  bed.  What  infuriated  me  most  was  that  their  mysteries  and 
imbecilities  should  be  forced  on  me  again,  and  that  these  people 
could  not  get  on  without  secrets  and  intrigues. 

"  Why  do  you  say :  '  he  will  certainly  not  come  back '  ?  What 
do  you  mean  by  that  ?     He  has  gone  to  see  mother,  that's  all !  " 

"  I  d— don't  know." 

"  And  what  have  you  come  for  ?  " 

She  told  me  that  she  had  just  come  from  Anna  Andreyevna, 
who  had  sent  her  for  me,  and  urgently  expected  me  at  once,  or 
else  it  would  be  "  too  late."  These  last  enigmatic  words  finally 
exasperated  me  : 

"  Why  too  late  ?  I  don't  want  to  come  and  I'm  not  coming ! 
I  won't  let  them  take  possession  of  me  again  !  I  don't  care  a 
damn  for  Lambert,  you  can  tell  her  so,  and  if  she  sends  Lambert 
to  me,  I'll  kick  him  out,  you  can  tell  her  so  1  " 

Darya  Onisimovna  was  awfully  alarmed. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  taking  a  step  towards  me,  clasping  her 
hands  AS  though  she  were  beseeching  me.  "  Don't  be  so  hasty. 
There's  something  very  important  the  matter,  very  important 
to  yourself,  to  them,  too,  to  Audrey  Petrovitch,  to  your  mamma, 
to  every  one.  ...  Go  and  see  Anna  Andreyevna  at  once,  she 
can't  wait  any  longer  ...  I  assure  you,  on  my  honour  .  .  . 
and  afterwards  you  can  make  your  decision." 

I  looked  at  her  with  surprise  and  repulsion. 

"  Nonsense,  it  will  be  nothing,  I'm  not  coming  I  "  I  shouted 
obstinately  and  vindictively;  "  Now  everything's  different  ! 
Though  how  could  you  understand  that  ?  Good-bye,  Darya 
Onisimovna,  I  won't  go  on  purpose,  I  won't  question  you  on 
purpose.  Yousimply  bother  me.  I  don't  want  to  know  anything 
about  your  mysteries." 

As  she  did  not  go  away,  however,  but  still  stood  waiting,  I 
snatched  up  my  fur  coat  and  cap,  and  went  out  myself,  leaving 
her  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  There  were  no  letters  or  papers 
in  my  room,  and  I  never  used  to  lock  my  door  when  I  went  out. 
But  before  I  had  reached  the  front  door  my  landlord  ran  after 
me  downstairs,  without  his  hat,  aud  not  in  full  uniform. 

"  Arkady  Makarovitch  '     Arkady  Makarovitch  1 " 

"  What  now  ?  " 

**  Have  you  no  instructions  to  leave  ?  '* 

"  No,  nothing." 

He  looked  at  me  with  eyes  like  gimlets,  in  evident  imeaeiness  : 

479 


"  About  your  room,  for  instance  '.'  " 

*'  What  about  my  room  ?  Why,  I  sent  you  the  rent  when  it 
was  due  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  money,"  he  said  with  a 
broad  smile,  his  eyes  still  piercing  into  me  like  pins. 

"  Whj%  what  on  earth's  the  matter  with  you  all  ?  "  I  shouted 
at  last,  growing  almost  savage.     "  What  do  you  want  too  ?  " 

He  Avaittd  for  a  few  seconds  longer,  still  seeming  to  expect 
something  from  me. 

"  Well,  then,  you  will  give  instructions  later  ...  if  you  are 
not  in  the  humour  now,"  he  muttered,  grinning  more  broadly 
than  ever  ;    "you  go  on  and  I'll  see  to  it." 

He  ran  back  upstairs.  Of  course  all  this  might  well  make 
one  reflect.  I  purposely  avoid  omitting  a  single  detail  in  all 
that  petty  tomfoolery,  for  every  little  detail  heljx^d  to  make  up 
the  final  situation  and  had  its  place  in  it,  a  fact  of  which  the 
reader  will  be  convinced.  But  that  they  really  did  bother  me 
was  true.  If  I  was  upset  and  irritated,  it  was  at  hearing  again 
in  their  words  that  tone  of  intrigue  and  mystery  of  which  I  was 
80  sick,  and  which  so  brought  back  the  past.     But  to  continue. 

It  turned  out  that  Versilov  was  not  at  home,  and  it  appeared 
that  he  really  had  gone  out  as  soon  as  it  was  light.  "  To 
mother's,  of  course  "  :  I  stuck  obstinately  to  my  idea.  I  did  not 
question  the  nurse,  rather  a  stupid  peasant  woman,  and  there 
was  no  one  else  in  the  lodging.  I  ran  to  mother's  and  I  must 
admit  I  was  so  anxious  that  I  took  a  sledge  half-way.  He  had 
not  been  at  mother  s  since  the  evening  before.  There  was  no  one 
with  mother  except  Tatyana  Pavlovna  and  Liza.  Liza  began 
getting  ready  to  go  out  as  soon  as  I  went  in. 

They  were  all  sitting  upstairs,  in  my  "  coffin."  In  the  draw- 
ing room  Makar  Ivanovitch  was  laid  out  on  the  table,  and  an 
old  man  was  reading  the  psalter  over  him  in  an  even,  monotonous 
voice.  For  the  future  I  am  not  going  to  describe  anything  more 
that  does  not  relate  to  the  matter  in  hand.  I  will  only  say  that 
the  coflin,  which  they  bad  already  made,  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  w  as  not  a  plain  one,  though  it  was  black  ;  it  was 
upholstered  in  velvet,  and  the  pall  was  of  an  expensive  sumptuous- 
ness  that  was  not  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  a  monk,  or 
with  the  convictions  of  the  dead  man  ;  but  such  was  the  special 
desire  of  my  mother  and  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  who  arranged  the 
matter  together. 

I  had  not  of  course  expected  to  tiad  thtm  cheerful ;   but  the 

480 


peculiar  overwhelming  distress  mixed  with  uneasiness  and 
anxiety,  which  I  read  in  their  eyes,  struck  me  at  once,  and  1 
instantly  concluded  that  "  sorrow  for  the  dead  was  certainly 
not  the  only  cause."     All  this,  I  repeat,  I  remember  perfectly. 

In  spite  of  ever)rthing  I  embraced  mother  tenderly  and  at 
once  asked  about  him.  A  gleam  of  tremulous  curiosity  came 
into  mother's  eyes  at  once.  I  made  haste  to  mention  that  we 
had  spent  the  whole  evening  together,  till  late  at  night,  but 
that  to-day  he  had  been  away  from  home  since  early  morning, 
though  at  parting  last  night  he  had  asked  me  to  come  as  early 
as  I  could  this  morning.  Mother  made  no  answer,  and  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  seizing  a  favoiu-able  moment,  shook  her  finger  at  me 
meaningly. 

"  Good-bye,  brother,"  Liza  blurted  out,  going  quickly  out  of 
the  room.  I  ran  after  her,  of  course,  but  she  stopped  short  at 
the  outer  door. 

"  I  thought  you  would  guess  you  must  come  with  me,"  she 
said  in  a  rapid  whisper. 

"  Liza,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what,  but  a  great  deal,  no  doubt  the  last 
chapter  of  *  the  same  old  story.'  He  has  not  come,  but 
they  have  heard  something  about  him.  They  won't  tell  you, 
you  needn't  trouble  yourself,  and  you  won't  ask,  if  you  are 
sensible  ;  but  mother's  shattered.  I've  not  asked  about  any- 
thing either.     Good-bye." 

She  opened  the  door. 

"  And,  Liza,  about  you,  yourself,  have  you  nothing  to  tell 
me  ?  "  I  dashed  after  her  into  the  entry.  Her  terribly  exhausted 
and  despairing  face  pierced  my  heart.  She  looked  at  me,  not 
simply  with  anger,  but  with  a  sort  of  exasperated  fury,  laughed 
bitterly,  and  waved  me  off. 

"  If  only  he  were  dead  I  should  thank  God  I  "  she  flung  up 
at  me  from  the  stairs,  and  was  gone.  She  said  this  of  Prince 
Sergay,  and  he,  at  that  very  time,  was  lying  delirious  and 
unconscious. 

I  went  upstairs,  sad  but  excited.  "  The  same  old  story  ! 
What  same  old  story  ?  "  I  thought  defiantly,  and  I  had  suddenly 
an  irresistible  impulse  to  tell  them  at  least  a  part  of  the  im- 
pression left  upon  me  by  his  last  night's  confession,  and  the 
confession  too.  "  They're  thinking  some  evil  of  him  now,  so 
let  them  know  all  about  it  1  "  floated  through  my  mind. 

I  remember  that  I  succeeded  very  cleverly  in  beginning   to 

481  2h 


tell  them  my  story.  Instantly  their  faces  betrayed  an  intense 
ctiriosity.  This  time  Tatyana  Pavlovna  positively  fixed  me 
with  her  eyes  ;  but  mother  showed  more  reserve  ;  she  was  very 
grave,  but  the  glimmer  of  a  faint,  beautiful,  though  utterly 
hopeless  smile  came  into  her  face,  and  scarcely  left  it  aU  the  time 
I  was  talking.  I  told  the  story  well,  of  course,  though  I  knew  that 
it  would  be  almost  beyond  their  comprehension.  To  my  surprise 
Tatyana  Pavlovna  did  not  attack  me,  did  not  insist  on  minute 
details,  or  try  to  pick  holes  as  she  usually  did  sis  soon  as  I  began 
telling  anything.  She  only  pinched  up  her  lips  and  screwed 
up  her  eyes,  as  though  making  an  effort  to  get  to  the  bottom 
of  it.  At  times  I  positively  fancied  that  they  understood  it 
all,  though  that  could  hardly  have  been  so.  .  .  .  I  spoke  for  in- 
stance of  his  convictions,  but  principally  of  his  enthusiasm  last 
night,  his  enthusiastic  feeling  for  mother,  his  love  for  mother 
and  how  he  had  kissed  her  portrait.  .  .  .  Hearing  this  they 
exchanged  a  rapid  silent  glance  with  each  other,  and  mother 
flushed  all  over,  though  both  continued  silent.  Then  .  .  .  then 
I  could  not  of  course  before  mother  touch  on  the  principal  point, 
that  is  his  meeting  with  her  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  above  all  her 
letter  to  him  the  day  before,  and  his  moral  resurrection  after 
getting  that  letter  ;  and  that  indeed  was  the  chief  point,  so 
that  all  his  feeling,  with  which  I  had  hoped  to  please  mother  so 
much,  naturally  remained  inexplicable,  though  of  course  that  was 
not  my  fault ;  I  had  told  all  that  could  be  told  extremely  well. 
I  ended  in  complete  confusion  ;  their  silence  was  still  unbroken 
and  I  began  to  feel  very  uncomfortable  with  them. 

"  Most  likely  he's  come  back  now,  and  may  be  at  my  lodgings 
waiting  for  me,"  I  said,  and  got  up  to  go. 

"  Go  and  see  !  go  and  see  !  "  Tatyana  Pavlovna  urged  me 
resolutely. 

"  Have  you  been  downstairs  ?  "  mother  asked  me,  in  a  sort 
of  half  whisper,  as  she  said  good-bye. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been,  and  I  bowed  down  and  prayed  for  him. 
What  a  peaceful,  serene  face  he  has,  mother  !  Thank  you,  mother, 
for  not  sparing  expense  over  his  coffin.  At  first  I  thought  it 
strange,  but  I  thought,  at  once,  that  I  should  have  done  the 
same." 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  church  to-morrow  ?  "  she  asked,  and 
her  Lips  trembled. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  mother  ?  "  I  asked  in  surprise.  "  I  shall 
como  to  the  requiem  service  to-day,  and  I  shall  come  again ; 

482 


and  .  .  .  besides,  to-morrow  is  your  birthday,  mother  darling  ! 
To  think  that  he  died  only  three  days  before  !  " 

I  went  away  painfully  surprised  :  how  could  she  ask  such 
questions,  whether  I  were  coming  to  the  funeral  service  in  the 
church  ?  "If  that's  what  they  think  of  me,  what  must  they  think 
of  him  ?  " 

I  knew  that  Tatyana  Pavlovna  would  run  after  me  and  I 
purposely  waited  at  the  outer  door  of  the  flat ;  but  she 
pushed  me  out  on  to  the  stairs  and  closed  the  door  behind 
her. 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  don't  you  expect  Andrey  Petrovitch  to- 
day or  to-morrow,  then  ?     I  am  alarmed.  .  .  ." 

"Hold  your  tongue.  Much  it  matters  yoiir  being  alarmed. 
TeU  me,  tell  me  what  you  kept  back  when  you  were  telling  us 
about  that  rigmarole  last  night !  " 

I  didn't  think  it  necessary  to  conceal  it,  and  feeling  almost 
irritated  with  Versilov  I  told  her  all  about  Katerina  Nikolaevna's 
letter  to  him  the  day  before  and  of  the  effect  of  the  letter,  that 
is  of  his  resurrection  into  a  new  life.  To  my  amazement  the 
fact  of  the  letter  did  not  surprise  her  in  the  least,  and  I  guessed 
that  she  knew  of  it  already. 

"  But  you  are  lying." 

"  No,  I'm  not." 

"  I  dare  say,"  she  smiled  malignantly,  as  though  meditating: 
'*  risen  again,  has  he,  so  that's  the  latest,  is  it  ?  But  is  it  true 
that  he  kissed  her  portrait  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Tatyana  Pavlovna." 

"  Did  he  kiss  it  with  feeling,  he  wasn't  putting  it  on  ?  " 

"  Putting  it  on,  as  though  he  ever  did  !  For  shame,  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  ;   you've  a  coarse  soul,  a  woman's  soul." 

I  said  this  with  heat ;  but  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  me  ;  she 
seemed  to  be  pondering  something  again,  in  spite  of  the  terrible 
chilliness  of  the  stairs.  I  had  on  my  fur  coat,  but  she  was  in 
her  indoor  dress. 

"  I  might  have  asked  you  to  do  something,  the  only  pity  is 
you're  so  stupid,"  she  said  with  contempt  and  apparent  vexation. 
"Listen,  go  to  Anna  Andreyevna's,  and  see  what's  going  on  there. 
.  .  .  But  no,  don't  go ;  a  booby's  always  a  booby  !  Go  along, 
quick  march,  why  do  you  stand  like  a  post  ?  " 

"  And  I'm  not  going  to  Anna  Andreyevna's.  Anna  Andreyevna 
sent  to  ask  me  herself." 

*'  She  did  ?    Darya  Onisimovna  ?  "  she  turned  to  me  quickly  ; 

483 


she  had  been  on  the  point  of  going  away,  and  had  already 
opened  the  door,  but  she  shut  it  again  with  a  slam. 

"  Nothing  will  induce  me  to  go  to  Anna  Andreyevna's,"  I 
repeated  with  spiteful  enjoyment ;  "  I  won't  go  because  I've 
just  been  called  a  booby,  though  I've  never  been  so  sharp-sighted 
as  to-day.  I  see  all  you're  doing,  it's  as  clear  as  day,  but  I'm 
not  going  to  Anna  Andreyevna  all  the  same  !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  she  exclaimed,  but  again  pursuing  her  own 
thoughts,  and  taking  no  notice  of  my  words  at  all.  "  They 
will  devour  her  now  completely,  and  draw  her  into  a  deadly 
noose." 

"  Anna  Andreyevna  ?  " 

"  Fool !  " 

"  Then  whom  do  you  mean  ?  Surely  not  Katerina  Nikolaevna  ? 
What  sort  of  deadly  noose  ?  " 

I  was  terribly  frightened,  a  vague  but  terrible  idea  set 
my  whole  heart  quivering.  Tatyana  Pavlovna  looked  at  me 
searchingly. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  there  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly.  "  What 
are  you  meddling  in  there  ?  I've  heard  something  about  you 
too,  you'd  better  look  out !  " 

"  Listen,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  I'll  tell  you  a  terrible  secret, 
only  not  just  now, 'there's  not  time  now,  but  to-morrow,  when 
we're  alone  ;  but  in  return  you  tell  me  the  whole  truth,  how  and 
what  you  mean  by  a  deadly  noose,  for  lam  all  in  a  tremble.  .  .  ." 

"  Much  I  care  for  your  trembling,"  she  exclaimed.  "  What's 
this  other  secret  you  want  to  tell  to-morrow  ?  Why,  you  know 
nothing  whatever  !  "  she  transfixed  me  with  a  questioning  look. 
"  Why,  you  swore  then  that  Kraft  had  burnt  the  letter,  didn't 
you  ?  " 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  I  tell  you  again,  don't  torment  me," 
I  p3rsisted  in  my  turn,  not  answering  her  question,  for  I  was 
beside  myself.  **  Take  care,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  that  your  hiding 
this  from  me  may  not  lead  to  something  worse  .  .  .  why, 
yesterday  he  was  absolutely  turning  over  a  new  leaf  !  " 

"  Go  along,  you  idiot !  you  are  like  a  love-sick  sparrow  your- 
self, I'll  be  bound ;  father  and  son  in  love  with  the  same  idol  ! 
Foo,  horrid  creatures  I  " 

She  vanished,  slamming  the  door  indignantly.  Furious  at 
the  impudent,  shameless  cynicism  of  these  last  words,  a  cynicism 
of  which  only  a  woman  would  have  been  capable,  1  ran  away, 
deeply  insulted.     But  I  won't  describe  my  vague  sensations  as 

484 


I  have  vowed  to  keep  to  facts  which  will  explain  everything 
now ;  on  my  way  of  course,  I  called  in  at  his  lodging,  and  heard 
from  the  nurse  that  he  had  not  been  homo  at  all. 

"  And  isn't  he  coming  at  all  ?  " 

"  Goodness  knows." 


3 

Facts,  facts  ! .  .  .  But  will  the  reader  understand  T  I  remember 
how  these  facts  overwhelmed  me  and  prevented  me  from  thinking 
clearly,  so  that  by  the  end  of  the  day  my  head  was  in  a  perfect 
whirl.  And  so  I  think  I  must  say  two  or  three  words  by  way  of 
introduction. 

The  question  that  tormented  me  was  this :  if  he  really  had 
gone  through  a  spiritual  change  and  had  ceased  to  love  her,  in 
that  case  where  should  he  have  been  now  ?  The  answer  was  : 
first  of  all  with  me  whom  he  had  embraced  the  evening  before, 
and  next  with  mother,  whose  portrait  he  had  kissed.  And  yet, 
in  spite  of  these  natural  alternatives,  he  had  suddenly,  "  as  soon 
as  it  was  light,"  left  home  and  gone  off  somewhere,  and  Darya 
Onisimovna  had  for  some  reason  babbled  of  his  not  beiKg  likely 
to  return.  What's  more,  Liza  had  hinted  at  the  "  last  chapter  " 
of  some  "  same  old  story,"  and  of  mother's  having  some  news 
of  him,  and  the  latest  news,  too  ;  moreover,  they  undoubtedly 
knew  of  Katerina  Nikolaevna's  letter,  too  (I  noticed  that),  and 
yet  they  did  not  believe  in  "his  resurrection  into  a  new  life  " 
though  they  had  listened  to  me  attentively.  Mother  was  crushed, 
and  Tatyana  Pavlovna  had  been  diabolical^  sarcastic  at  the 
word  "  resurrection."  But  if  all  this  was  so,  it  must  mean  that 
some  revulsion  of  feeling  had  come  over  him  again  in  the  night, 
another  crisis,  and  this — after  yesterday's  enthusiasm,  emotion, 
pathos  1  So  all  his  "  resurrection  "  had  burst  like  a  soap-bubble, 
and  he,  perhaps,  was  rushing  about  somewhere  again  now,  in  the 
same  frenzy  as  he  had  been  after  hearing  the  news  of  Biiring  ! 
There  was  the  question,  too,  what  would  become  of  mother,  of 
me,  of  all  of  us,  and  .  .  .  and,  finally,  what  would  become  of 
her  ?  What  was  the  deadly  noose  Tatyana  had  babbled  of  when 
she  was  sending  me  to  Anna  Andreyevna  ?  So  that  "  deadly 
noose "  was  there,  at  Anna  Andreyevna's  !  Why  at  Anna 
Andreyevna's  ?  Of  course  I  should  run  to  Anna  Andreyevna's  ; 
I  had  said  that  I  wouldn't  go  en  purpose,  only  in  annoyance ;  I 
would  run  there  at  once,  but  what  was  it  Tatyana  had  said  about 

485 


the  "  document "  ?  And  hadn't  he  himself  said  to  me  the 
evening  before  :   "  Bum  the  document  "  ? 

These  were  my  thoughts,  this  was  what  strangled  me,  too,  in 
a  deadly  noose  ;  but  what  I  wanted  most  of  all  was  him.  With 
him  I  could  have  decided  everything — I  felt  that ;  we  should 
have  understood  each  other  in  two  words  !  I  should  have 
gripped  his  hands,  pressed  them  ;  I  should  have  found  burning 
words  in  my  heart — this  was  the  dream  that  haunted  me.  Oh, 
I  would  have  calmed  his  frenzy.  .  .  .  But  where  was  he  ?  Where 
was  he  ? 

And,  as  though  this  were  not  enough,  Lambert  must  needs 
turn  up  at  such  a  moment,  when  I  was  so  excited  !  When  I  was 
only  a  few  steps  from  my  door  I  met  him  ;  he  uttered  a  yell  of 
delight  on  seeing  me,  and  seized  me  by  the  arm. 

"I've  been  to  see  you  thr-r-ree  times  already.  .  .  .  Enfin! 
come  and  have  lunch." 

"  Stay,  have  you  been  to  my  rooms  ;  was  Andrey  Petrovitch 
there  ?  " 

"  No,  there  was  no  one  there.  Dr-r-rop  them  all !  You're  a 
fool,  you  were  cross  yesterday  ;  you  were  drunk,  and  I've  some- 
thing important  to  tell  you  ;  I  heard  a  splendid  piece  of  news 
this  morning,  about  what  we  were  discussing  yesterday.  ..." 

"  Lambert,"  I  interrupted  hurriedly,  breathing  hard  and 
unconsciously  declaiming  a  little.  "  I  am  only  stopping  with 
you  no.w  to  finish  with  you  for  good.  I  told  you  yesterday,  but 
you  still  won't  understand.  Lambert,  you're  a  baby  and  as 
stupid  as  a  Frenchman.  You  persist  in  thinking  that  it's  the 
same  as  it  was  at  Touchard's,  and  that  I'm  as  stupid  as  at 
Touchard's.  .  .  .  But  I'm  not  so  silly  as  I  was  at  Touchard's.  ,  .  . 
I  was  drunk  yesterday,  but  not  from  wine,  but  because  I  was 
excited  ;  and  if  I  seemed  to  agree  with  the  stuff  you  talked,  it 
was  because  I  pretended,  so  as  to  find  out  what  you  were  driving  at. 
I  deceived  you,  and  you  were  delighted  and  believed  it  and  went 
on  talking  nonsense.  Let  me  tell  you  that  marrying  her  is  such 
nonsense  that  it  wouldn't  take  in  a  schoolboy  in  the  first  form. 
How  could  you  imagine  I  should  believe  it  ?  Did  you  believe 
it  ?  You  believed  it  because  you  have  never  been  in  aristocratic 
society,  and  don't  know  how  things  are  done  among  decent 
people.  Things  aren't  done  so  simply  in  aristocratic  society, 
«nd  it's  not  possible  for  her  so  simply  to  go  and  get  married.  .  .  . 
Now  I  will  tell  you  plainly  what  it  is  you  want :  you  mean  to 
entice  me,  so  as  to  make  me  drunk,  and  to  get  me  to  give  up 

486 


the  document,  and  to  join  you  in  some  scoimdrelly  plot  against 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  !  So  I  tell  you  it's  nonsense  !  I'll  never 
come  to  you.  And  you  may  as  well  know  that  to-morrow  or 
the  day  after  that  letter  will  be  in  her  own  hands,  for  it  belongs 
to  her,  for  it  was  written  by  her,  and  I'll  give  it  to  her  myself, 
and  if  you  caxe  to  know  where,  I  can  tell  you  that  through 
Tatyana  Pavlovna,  her  friend,  I  shall  give  it  at  Tatyana  Pav- 
lovna's,  and  in  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  presence,  and  I'll  take  nothing 
from  her  for  giving  it  her.  And  now  be  off  and  keep  away  from 
me  for  ever,  or  else  ...  or  else,  I  shan't  treat  you  so  civilly 
next  time,  Lambert.  .  .  ." 

As  I  finished  I  was  in  a  slight  shudder  all  over.  A  very 
serious  thing  and  the  nastiest  habit  in  life,  which  vitiates 
everything  in  all  one  does,  is  ...  is  showing  off.  Some  evil 
spirit  prompted  me  to  work  myself  up  with  Lambert,  till  rapping 
out  the  words  with  relish,  and  raising  my  voice  higher  and  higher, 
in  my  heat  I  ended  up  by  dragging  in  the  quite  unnecessary 
detail,  that  I  should  return  the  document  through  Tatyana 
Pavlovna,  and  in  her  lodging  !  But  I  had  such  a  longing  to 
crush  him  !  When  I  burst  out  so  directly  about  tbe  letter,  and 
suddenly  saw  his  stupid  alarm,  I  immediately  felt  a  desire  to 
overwhelm  him  by  giving  him  precise  details.  And  this  womanish, 
boastful  babbling  was  afterwards  the  cause  of  terrible  mis- 
fortunes, for  that  detail  about  Tatyana  Pavlovna  and  her  lodging 
was  naturally  caught  up  and  retained  by  a  scoundrel  who  had 
a  practical  mind  for  little  things  ;  in  more  exalted  and  important 
matters  he  was  useless  and  unintelligent,  but  for  such  trifles 
he  had  a  keen  sense,  nevertheless.  If  I  had  held  my  tongue 
about  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  great  disasters  would  not  have  occurred. 
Yet  when  he  heard  what  I  said,  for  the  first  minute  he  waw 
terribly  upset, 

"  Listen,"  he  muttered.     "  Alphonsine  .  .  .  Alphonsine  will 
sing.  .  .  .  Alphonsine  has  been  to  see  her  ;    listen.     I  hav(5  a 
letter,  almost  a  letter,  in  which  Mme.  Ahmakov  writes  of  you  ; 
the  pock-marked  fellow  got  it  for  me,  do  you  remember  him — 
and  you  will  see,  you  will  see,  come  along  !  " 
"  You  are  Ijnmg  ;  show  me  the  letter  !  " 
"  It's  at  home,  Alphonsine  has  got  it ;  come  along  !  " 
He  was  lying  and  talking  wildly,  of  course,  trembling  for  fear 
I  should  run  away  from  him  ;    but  I  suddenly  abandoned  him 
in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  when  he  seemed  disposed  to 
follow  me  I  stood  still  and  shook  my  fist  at  him.     But  he  already 

487 


stood  hesitating,  and  let  me  get  away  ;  perhaps  a  new  plan  had 
dawned  upon  him.  But  the  meetings  and  surprises  in  store  for 
me  were  not  yet  over.  .  .  .  And  when  I  remember  the  whole 
of  that  disastrous  day,  it  al\^ays  seems  as  though  all  those 
surprises  and  imforeseen  accidents  were  somehow  conspiring 
together  and  were  showered  on  my  head  from  some  accursed 
horn  of  plenty.  I  had  scarcely  opened  the  door  of  my  lodging 
when  in  the  entry  I  jostled  against  a  tall  young  man,  of  digni- 
fied and  elegant  exterior  with  a  long  pale  face,  wearing  a 
magnificent  fur  coat.  He  had  a  pince-nez  on  his  nose  ;  but  as 
soon  as  he  saw  me  he  took  it  off  (evidently  as  a  mark  of  politeness), 
and  courteously  lifting  his  top-hat,  but  without  stopping,  how- 
ever, said  to  me  with  an  elegant  smile  :  "  Hullo,  bonsoir,"  and 
passing  me  went  downstairs.  We  recognized  each  other  at  once, 
though  I  had  only  once  seen  him  for  a  moment  in  Moscow.  It 
was  Anna  Andreyevna's  brother,  the  young  kammer- junker, 
VersOov's  son,  and  consequently  almost  my  brother.  He  was 
accompanied  by  my  landlady.  (The  landlord  was  not  yet  back 
from  his  office.)  As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  I  simply  pounced  on 
her : 

"  What  has  he  been  doing  here  ?     Has  he  been  in  my  room  t  '* 

"  He's  not  been  in  your  room  at  all.  He  came  to  see  me  .  .  ." 
she  snapped  out  briefly  and  dryly,  and  returned  to  her  rcom. 

"  No,  you  can't  put  me  off  like  that,"  I  cried.  '*  Kindly 
answer  me  ;   why  did  he  come  ?  " 

"  My  goodness  I  Am  I  always  to  tell  you  why  people  come 
to  see  me  ?  We  may  have  our  own  interests  to  consider,  mayn't 
we  1  The  young  man  may  have  wanted  to  borrow  money ;  he 
found  out  an  address  from  me.  Perhaps  I  promised  it  him  last 
time.  .  .  ." 

"  Last  time  ?     When  ?  " 

"  Oh  my  goodness,  why  it's  not  the  first  time  he's  been  I  '* 

She  went  away.  The  chief  thing  I  gathered  was  the  change 
of  tone.  They  had  begun  to  be-  rude  to  me.  It  was  clear  that 
this  was  another  secret ;  secrete  were  accumulating  with  every 
step,  with  every  hour.  For  the  first  time  young  Versilov  had 
come  with  his  sister,  with  Anna  Andreyevna,  when  I  was  ill ; 
I  remember  that  perfectly,  as  well  as  Anna  Andreyevna's  amazing 
words  the  day  before,  that,  perhaps,  the  old  prince  would  stay 
at  my  rooms.  .  .  .  But  all  this  was  so  mixed  up  and  so  monstrous 
that  I  could  scarcely  gather  anything  from  it.  Clapping  my 
hands  to  my  forehead,  and  not  even  sitting  down  to  rest,  I  ran 

488 


to  Anna  Andreyevna's  ;  it  appeared  that  she  was  not  at  home, 
and  I  received  from  the  porter  the  information  that  "  she  had 
gone  to  Tsarskoe  ;  and  might,  perhaps,  not  be  back  till  about 
this  time  to-morrow." 

She  was  at  Tsarskoe,  and  no  doubt  with  the  old  prince,  and 
her  brother  was  examining  my  lodgings  !  "  No,  that  shall  not 
be,"  I  cried,  gnashing  my  teeth  ;  "  and  if  there  really  is  some 
'  deadly  noose  '  I  will  defend  *  the  poor  woman  '  I  " 

From  Anna  Andreyevna's  I  did  not  return  home,  for  there 
suddenly  flashed  upon  my  feverish  brain  the  thought  of  the 
restaurant  on  the  canal  side,  where  Andrey  Petrovitch  had  the 
habit  of  going  in  his  gloomy  hours.  Delighted  at  this  conjecture, 
I  instantly  ran  thither ;  it  was  by  now  four  o'clock  and  was 
already  beginning  to  get  dark.  In  the  restaurant  I  was  told 
that  he  had  been  there,  stayed  a  little  while  and  had  gone 
away,  but,  perhaps,  he  would  come  back.  I  suddenly  deter- 
mined to  wait  for  him,  and  ordered  diimer;  there  was  a  hope 
any  how. 

I  ate  my  dinner,  ate,  indeed,  more  than  I  wanted,  so  as  to 
have  a  right  to  stay  as  long  as  possible,  and  I  stayed,  I  believe, 
four  hours.  I  won't  describe  my  disappointment  and  feverish 
impatience,  everything  within  me  seemed  shaking  and  quivering. 
That  organ,  those  diners — oh,  all  the  dreariness  of  it  is  stamped 
upon  my  soul,  perhaps  for  the  rest  of  my  life  I  I  won't  describe 
the  ideas  that  whirled  in  my  head  like  a  crowd  of  dry  leaves  in 
autumn  after  a  hurricane  ;  it  really  was  something  like  that, 
and  I  confess  that  I  felt  at  times  that  my  reason  was  beginning 
to  desert  me 

But  what  worried  me  till  it  was  a  positive  pain  (in  a  side-current, 
of  course,  besides  my  chief  torment)  was  a  persistent  poisonous 
impression,  persistent  as  a  venomous  autumn  fly,  which  one 
does  not  think  about  but  which  whirls  about  one,  pesters  one, 
and  suddenly  bites  one  painfully  ;  it  was  only  a  reminiscence, 
an  incident  of  which  I  had  never  spoken  to  anyone  in  the  world 
before.  This  was  what  it  was,  since  it  seems  I  must  tell  this, 
too. 


When  it  was  settled  that  I  was  to  leave  Moscow  and  come  to 
Petersburg,  I  received  instructions  through  Nikolay  Semyonovitch 
to  wait  for  money  to  be  sent  me  for  the  journey.     From  whom 

489 


the  money  was  coming  I  did  not  ask  ;  I  knew  it  was  from  Versilov, 
and  as  I  dreamed  day  and  night  of  my  meet'ng  with  him,  making 
exalted  plans  about  it  while  my  heart  almost  swooned  within 
me,  I  had  quite  given  up  speaking  about  him  aloud  even  to 
Marie  Ivanovna.  I  remember  that  I  had  money  of  my  own, 
but  I  proceeded  to  wait  expectantly  for  the  money  to  come  by  post. 

Suddenly,  however,  Nikolay  Semyonovitch,  returing  home, 
informed  me  (as  usual  briefly  and  without  going  off  into  explana- 
tions) that  I  was  to  go  next  day  to  Myasnitsky,  at  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  to  Prince  V.'s  flat,  and  that  there  Andrey  Petro- 
vitch's  son,  the  kammer- junker,  Versilov,  who  had  just  arrived 
from  Petersburg  and  was  staying  with  his  schoolfellow.  Prince  V., 
would  hand  over  to  me  a  sum  of  money  for  my  journey.  On  the 
face  of  it  the  arrangement  was  simple  enough  :  Andrey  Petro- 
vitch  might  well  send  the  money  by  his  son  rather  than  by  post ; 
but  the  news  crushed  me  and  filled  me  with  alarm.  I  had  no 
doubt  that  Versilov  wished  to  bring  his  son,  my  brother,  and  me 
together  ;  this  threw  a  light  upon  the  intentions  and  feelings 
of  the  man  of  whom  I  dreamed  ;  but  a  question  of  the  utmost 
magnitude  presented  itself  to  me  :  how  should  I,  and  how  must 
I  behave  at  this  utterly  unexpected  interview,  and  how  could  I 
best  keep  up  my  dignity  ? 

Next  day,  exactly  at  eleven  o'clock,  I  turned  up  at  Prince  V.'s 
flat,  which,  as  I  was  able  to  judge,  was  splendidly  furnished, 
though  it  was  a  bachelor's  establishment.  I  was  kept  waiting 
in  the  hall  where  there  were  several  lackeys  in  livery.  And  from 
the  next  room  came  sounds  of  loud  talk  and  laughter  :  Prince  V. 
had  other  visitors  besides  the  kammer- junker.  I  told  the  foott 
man  to  announce  me,  and,  I  fancy,  in  rather  haughty  terms. 
Anyway,  he  looked  at  me  strangely,  and,  as  I  fancied,  not  so 
respectfully  as  he  should  have  done.  To  my  amazement  he  was 
a  very  long  time  in  announcing  me,  five  minutes,  and  all  the  while 
the  same  laughter,  and  the  same  sounds  of  conversation  reached 
me. 

I  waited  standing,  knowing  that  it  would  be  impossible  and 
unseemly  for  me,  "  just  as  much  a  gentleman,"  to  sit  down  in  a 
hall  where  there  were  footmen.  My  pride  would  have  prevented 
me  under  any  circumstances  from  entering  the  drawing-room 
without  a  special  invitation  ;  over-fastidious  pride  perhaps  it  was, 
but  that  was  only  fitting.  To  my  amazement  the  two  lackeys 
who  were  left  in  the  hall  had  the  impertinence  to  sit  down. 
I  turned  away  to  avoid  noticing  it,  and  yet  I  could  not  held 

490 


quivering  all  over,  and  suddenly  turning  and  stepping  up  to  one 
of  the  footmen,  I  ordered  him  to  go  "  at  once  "  and  take  in  my 
name  again.  In  spite  of  my  stern  expression  and  extreme 
excitement,  the  lackey  looked  at  me  lazily,  without  getting  up, 
and  the  other  one  answered  for  him  : 

"  It's  been  taken  in,  don't  disturb  yourself." 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  wait  only  another  minute  or  possibly 
even  less,  and  then  to  go.  I  was  very  well-dressed  :  my  suit  and 
overcoat  were  new  anyway,  and  my  linen  was  perfectly  fresh, 
Marie  Ivanovna  had  seen  to  that  with  a  special  view  to  the 
occasion.  But  I  learned  for  a  fact,  much  later,  when  I  was  in 
Petersburg,  that  these  lackeys  had  heard  the  evening  before 
from  young  Versilov's  valet  that  "  the  young  gentleman's 
bastard  brother,  a  student,  was  coming."  I  know  this  now  for 
a  fact. 

The  minute  passed.  It's  a  strange  sensation  when  one  decides 
and  cannot  decide.  "  Shall  I  go  or  not,  shall  I  go  or  not  ?  " 
I  repeated  to  myself  every  second,  almost  in  a  fever,  and  suddenly 
the  lackey  who  had  taken  my  name  returned.  Between  his 
fingers  he  held  fluttering  four  red  notes — forty  roubles  ! 

"  Here,  sir,  will  you  please  take  forty  roubles  !  " 

I  boiled  over.  This  was  such  an  insult  !  All  the  night  before 
I  had  been  dreaming  of  the  meeting  Versilov  had  arranged  be- 
tween us  two  brothers  ;  I  had  spent  the  whole  night  in  feverish 
visions  of  the  demeanour  I  ought  to  adopt,  that  I  might  not  dis- 
credit— not  discredit  the  whole  cycle  of  ideas  which  I  had  worked 
out  in  my  solitude,  and  which  might  have  made  me  feel  proud 
in  any  circle.  I  dreamed  of  how  proud,  gentlemanly,  and  sad, 
perhaps,  I  would  be  even  in  Prince  V.'s  society,  and  how  in  that 
way  I  should  be  admitted  into  that  circle — oh,  I'm  not  sparing 
myself,  and  so  be  it,  for  it's  just  such  details  that  I  ought  to 
record  !  And  then — to  be  given  forty  roubles  by  a  lackey  in  the 
hall,  and  after  being  kept  ten  minutes  waiting,  and  not  even  in 
an  envelope,  not  even  on  a  salver,  but  straight  from  the  lackey's 
fingers  ! 

I  shouted  so  violently  at  the  lackey  that  he  started  and  stepped 
back  ;  I  told  him  he  must  go  back  at  once  and  "  his  master  must 
bring  the  money  himself  " — in  fact,  my  request  was,  of  course, 
incoherent  and  incomprehensible  to  the  man.  But  I  shouted  so 
that  he  went.  To  make  things  worse  my  shouting  was  heard 
in  the  room,  and  the  talk  and  laughter  suddenly  subsided. 

Almost  at  the  same  time  I  heard  footsteps,  dignified,  quiet, 

491 


unhurried,  and  a  tall  figure  of  a  handsome  and  haughty-looking 
young  man  (he  seemed  to  me  then  even  thinner  and  paler  than 
when  I  met  him  to-day)  appeared  in  the  doorway  a  yard  from- 
the  door  leading  into  the  passage.  He  was  wearing  a  magni- 
ficent red  silk  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  and  had  a  pince-nez 
on  his  nose.  Without  uttering  a  word  he  fixed  me  with  his 
pince-nez  and  proceeded  to  stare  at  me.  I  took  one  step  towards 
him  like  a  wild  beast,  and  began  glaring  at  him  defiantly.  But 
he  only  scrutinized  me  for  a  moment,  ten  seconds  at  the  utmost ; 
suddenly  I  detected  on  his  lips  a  scarcely  perceptible,  but  most 
malignant  smile — what  made  it  so  malignant  was  that  it  was 
scarcely  perceptible  :  he  turned  round  without  a  word  and 
went  back  into  the  room,  just  as  deliberately,  just  as  quietly  and 
smoothly  as  he  had  come.  Oh,  these  insolent  fellows  are  trained 
by  their  mothers  from  childhood  to  be  insolent !  I  lost  my  head 
of  course.  .  .  .  Oh,  why  did  I  lose  my  head  ! 

Almost  at  that  moment  the  same  lackey  reappeared  with  the 
same  notes  in  his  hand. 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  take  this,  it  is  sent  you  from  Petersburg, 
but  his  honour  can't  see  you  :  '  perhaps  another  time,  when  he's 
more  at  leisure.' "  I  felt  that  these  last  words  were  his  own 
addition.  But  I  was  still  overwhelmed  with  confusion.  I  took 
the  money  and  walked  to  the  door,  I  took  it  simply  because  I 
was  confused,  I  ought  not  to  have  taken  it ;  but  the  lackey, 
no  doubt  wanting  to  mortify  me  further,  ventured  upon  a 
regular  flunkey's  impertinence  ;  he  flung  the  door  extra  wide 
open  before  me,  and  pronounced  with  exaggerated  emphasis  and 
dignity,  as  I  went  out  : 

"  This  way,  if  you  please  !  " 

"  You  blackguard,"  I  roared  at  him,  and  I  raised  my  hand, 
but  I  did  not  bring  it  down  ;  "  and  your  master's  a  blackguard, 
too  !     Tell  him  so  directly,"  I  added,  and  went  down  the  stairs. 

"  Don't  you  dare  !  If  I  were  to  report  that  to  my  master,  you 
would  be  taken,  that  very  minute,  with  a  note  to  the  police 
station.     And  don't  you  dare  threaten  me  !  " 

I  went  down  the  stairs.  It  was  a  grand  open  staircase,  and 
above  I  could  be  watched  as  I  went  down  the  rod  carpeted  stairs. 
All  three  lackeys  came  out  and  stood  looking  over  the  banisters. 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  keep  quiet,  of  course  :  to  brawl  with 
lackeys  was  impossible.  I  walked  the  whole  length  of  the  stairs 
without  increasing  my  pace  ;  I  believe  I  even  moved  more  slowly. 

Oh,  there  may  be  philosophers  (and  shame  upon  them  !)  who 

492 


will  say  that  all  this  is  nonsense,  the  irritability  of  a  milksop ; 
let  them  say  so,  but  for  me  it  was  a  wound — a  wound  which  has 
not  healed  to  this  day,  even  to  the  present  moment,  when  I  am 
writing  this,  when  all  is  over  and  even  avenged.  Oh,  I  swear 
I  am  not  given  to  harbouring  malice  and  I  am  not  revengeful. 
No  doubt  I  always,  even  before  my  illness,  wanted  to  revenge 
myself  when  I  was  insulted,  but  I  swear  it  was  only  to  revenge 
myself  by  magnanimity.  Let  me  revenge  myself  magnanimously, 
but  so  that  he  felt  it  and  understood,  and  I  should  have  been 
avenged  !  And,  by  the  way,  I  must  add  :  that  though  I  am  not 
revengeful  I  have  a  good  memory  for  injuries,  in  spite  of  being 
magnanimous  ;  I  wonder  whether  others  are  the  same  ?  Then 
oh,  then  I  went  with  generous  feelings,  perhaps  absurd,  but  no 
matter  :  better  they  were  absurd  and  generous,  than  not  absurd 
but  mean,  vulgar  and  mediocre  !  I  never  told  anyone  of  that 
meeting  with  "  my  brother,"  even  Marie  Ivanovna,  even  Liza  : 
that  interview  was  exactly  like  an. insulting  slap  in  the  face. 
And  now  I  came  across  this  gentleman  when  I  least  expected  to 
meet  him  ;  he  smiles  to  mo,  takes  off  his  hat  and  says  bonsoir 
in  quite  a  friendly  way.  That  give  one  something  to  think  about 
of  course.  .  ,  .  But  the  wound  was  reopened. 


After  sitting  for  more  than  four  hours  in  the  restaurant  I 
suddenly  rushed  away  as  though  I  were  in  a  fit,  again  to  Versilov's 
of  course,  and  again,  of  course,  I  did  not  find  him  at  home  ;  he 
had  not  been  to  the  house  at  all ;  the  nurse  was  bored,  and  she 
asked  me  to  send  Darya  Onisimovna  ;  as  though  I  had  thoughts 
for  that !  I  ran  to  mother's,  but  did  not  go  in.  Calling  Lukerya 
into  the  passage  I  learnt  from  her  that  he  had  not  been  there 
either,  and  that  Liza,  too,  was  not  at  home.  I  saw  that  Lukerya, 
too,  would  have  liked  to  ask  me  something,  and  also,  perhaps, 
to  give  me  some  commission  ;  but  I  had  no  thoughts  for  that  ! 
There  was  one  last  hope  left — that  he  had  gone  to  my  lodging ; 
but  I  had  no  faith  in  this. 

I  have  already  stated  that  I  was  almost  out  of  my  mind. 
And  lo,  and  behold !  in  my  room  I  found  Alphonsine  and 
my  landlord.  They  were  coming  out,  it  is  true,  and  in  Pyotr 
Ippolitovitch's  hand  was  a  candle. 

"  What's  this  1  "  I  yelled  at  the  landlord,  almost  senselessly. 
"  How  dare  you  take  that  hussy  into  my  room  ?  " 

493 


"  Tien,'"  cried  Alphonsine  :   "  et  les  amis  ?  " 

"  Get  out,"  I  roared. 

"  Mai3  c'est  un  ours !  "  she  whisked  out  into  the  passage, 
pretending  to  be  alarmed,  and  instantly  disappeared  into  the 
landlady's  room,  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch,  still  holding  the  candle 
in  his  hand,  came  up  to  me  with  a  severe  face. 

"  Allow  me  to  observe,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  that  you  are  too 
hasty  ;  with  all  respect  to  you.  Mademoiselle  Alphonsine  is  not 
a  hussy,  but  quite  the  contrary,  indeed,  is  here,  not  as  your 
visitor,  but  as  my  wife's,  with  whom  she  has  been  for  some  time 
past  acquainted." 

"  And  how  dared  you  take  her  into  my  room  ?  "  I  repeated, 
clutching  at  my  head,  which  almost  suddenly  began  to  ache 
violently. 

"  By  chance.  I  went  in  to  shut  the  window,  which  I  had  opened 
to  air  the  room  ;  and  as  Alphonsine  Karlovna  and  I  were  con- 
tinuing our  conversation,  she  came  into  your  room  simply  follow- 
ing me." 

"  That's  a  lie.  Alphonsine's  a  spy,  Lambert's  a  spy  I  Perhaps 
you're  a  spy,  too  !  And  Alphonsine  came  into  my  room  to  steal 
something." 

"  That's  as  you  please.  You'll  say  one  thing  to-day,  but  to- 
morrow you'll  speak  differently.  And  I've  let  our  rooms  for 
some  time,  and  have  moved  with  my  wife  into  the  little  room 
so  that  Alphonsine  Karlovna  is  almost  as  much  a  lodger  here  as 
you  are." 

"  You've  let  your  rooms  to  Lambert  ?  "  I  cried  in  dismay. 

"  No,  not  to  Lambert,"  he  answered  with  the  same  broad  grin, 
in  which,  however,  the  hesitation  I  had  seen  in  the  morning  was 
replaced  by  determination.  "  I  imagine  that  you  know  to  whom 
and  only  affect  not  to  know  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  and 
that's  why  you're  angry.     Good-night,  sir  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  leave  me,  leave  me  alone  !  "  I  waved  my  hand, 
almost  crying,  so  that  he  looked  at  me  in  surprise  ;  he  went 
away,  however.  I  fastened  the  door  with  the  hook  and  threw 
myself  on  my  bed  with  my  face  in  the  pillow.  And  that  is  how 
I  passed  that  awful  day,  the  first  of  those  three  momentous  days 
with  which  my  story  concludes. 


454 


CHAPTER  X 

1 

Вит,  again  anticipating  the  course  of  events,  I  find  it  is  necessary 
to  explain  to  the  reader  something  of  what  is  coming,  for  the 
logical  sequence  of  the  story  is  obscured  by  such  numerous 
incidents,  that  otherwise  it  would  be  impossible  to  understand 
it. 

That  something  is  the  "  deadly  noose  "  to  which  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  let  slip  an  allusion.  It  appeared  that  Anna  Andreyevna 
had  ventured  at  last  on  the  most  audacious  step  that  could  be 
imagined  in  her  jwsition  ;  she  certainly  had  a  will  of  her  own  ! 
On  the  pretext  of  his  health  the  old  prince  had  been  in  the  nick 
of  time  carried  ofiE  to  Tsarskoe  Syelo  so  that  the  news  of  his 
aaproaching  marriage  with  Anna  Andreyevna  might  not  be 
spread  abroad,  but  might  for  the  time  be  stifled,  so  to  say,  in 
embryo,  yet  the  feeble  old  man,  with  whom  one  could  do  any- 
thing else,  would  not  on  any  consideration  have  consented  to 
give  up  his  idea  and  jilt  Anna  Andreyevna,  who  had  made  him 
an  offer.  On  this  subject  he  was  a  paragon  of  chivalry,  so  that 
he  might  sooner  or  later  bestir  himself  and  suddenJy  proceed  to 
carry  out  his  intentions  with  that  irresistible  force  which  is  so 
very  frequently  met  with  in  weak  characters,  for  they  often 
have  a  line  beyond  which  they  cannot  be  driven.  Moreover,  he 
fully  recognised  the  delicacy  of  the  position  of  Anna  Andreyevna, 
for  whom  he  had  an  unbounded  respect ;  he  was  quite  alive  to 
the  possibility  of  rumours,  of  gibes,  of  injurious  gossip.  The 
only  thing  that  checked  him  and  kept  him  quiet  for  the  time 
was  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  had  never  once  allowed  herself 
to  drop  the  faintest  hint  reflecting  on  Anna  Andreyevna  in  his 
presence,  or  to  raise  the  faintest  objection  to  his  intention  of 
marrying  her  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  showed  the  greatest  cordiality 
and  every  attention  to  her  father's  fiancee.  In  this  way  Anna 
Andreyevna  was  placed  in  an  extremely  awkward  position, 
perceiving  with  her  subtle  feminine  instinct  that  she  would 
wound  all  the  old  prince's  tenderest  feelings,  and  would  arouse 
his  distrust  and  even,  perhaps,  his  indignation  by  the  slightest 
criticism  of  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  whom  he  worshipped,  too,  and 
now  more  than  ever  just  because  she  had  so  graciously  and 

495 


dutifully  consented  to  his  marriage.  And  so  for  the  present 
the  conflict  was  waged  on  that  plane  :  the  two  rivals  vied  with 
one  another  in  delicacy  and  patience,  and  as  time  went  on  the 
prince  did  not  know  which  of  them  to  admire  the  most,  and  like 
all  weak  but  tender-hearted  people,  he  ended  by  being  miserable 
and  blaming  himself  for  everything.  His  depression  of  spirits 
reached  a  morbid  point,  I  was  told  :  his  nerves  were  thoroughly 
upset,  and  instead  of  regaining  health  in  Tsarskoe,  he  was,  so 
I  was  assured,  on  the  point  of  taking  to  his  bed. 

Here  I  may  note  in  parenthesis  what  I  only  learnt  long  after- 
wards that  Biiring  had  bluntly  proposed  to  Katerina  Niko- 
laevna  that  they  should  take  the  old  gentleman  abroad,  inducing 
him  to  go  by  some  sort  of  strategy,  letting  people  know  privately 
meanwhile  that  he  had  gone  out  of  his  mind,  and  obtaining  a 
doctor's  certificate  to  that  effect  abroad.  But  Katerina  Niko- 
laevna  would  not  consent  to  that  on  any  account ;  so  at  least 
it  was  declared  afterwards.  She  seems  to  have  rejected  the 
project  with  indignation.  All  this  is  only  a  rather  roundabout 
rumour,  but  I  believe  it. 

And  just  when  things  had  reached  this  apparently  hopeless 
position,  Arma  Andreyevna  suddenly  learnt  through  Lambert 
that  there  was  in  existence  a  letter,  in  which  the  daughter  had 
consulted  a  lawyer  about  declaring  her  father  insane.  Her 
proud  and  revengeful  mind  was  roused  to  the  utmost.  Recalling 
previous  conversations  with  me  and  putting  together  many 
trifling  circumstances,  she  could  not  doubt  the  truth  of  it.  Then, 
inevitably,  the  plan  of  a  bold  stroke  matured  in  her  resolute, 
inflexible,  feminine  heart.  .  .  .  That  plan  was  to  tell  the  prince 
all  about  it,  suddenh',  with  no  preliminaries  or  negotiations, 
to  frighten  him,  to  give  him  a  shock,  to  prove  to  him  that  what 
inevitably  awaited  him  was  the  lunatic  asylum,  and  if  he  were 
perverse,  if  he  refused  to  believe  and  expressed  indignation,  to 
show  him  his  daughter's  letter,  as  though  to  say,  "  Since  there 
was  once  an  intention  of  declaring  him  insane,  it  might  well  be 
tried  again  in  order  to  prevent  his  marriage."  Then  to  take 
the  frightened  and  shattered  old  man  to  Petersburg — straight 
to  my  lodging. 

It  was  a  terrible  risk,  but  she  had  complete  confidence  in  her 
powers.  Here  I  will  digress  for  a  moment  to  observe  that  the 
later  course  of  events  proved  that  she  had  not  been  mistaken 
as  to  the  effect  of  this  blow ;  what  is  more,  the  effect  of  it  exceeded 
her   expectations.     The   news   of   the   existence   of   this   letter 

496 


produced,  perhaps,  a  far  stronger  effect  on  the  old  prince  than 
she  or  any  of  us  had  anticipated.  I  had  no  idea  until  then  that 
the  old  prince  had  heard  of  this  letter  before  ;  but  like  all  weak 
and  timid  people  he  did  not  believe  the  rumour,  and  did  his 
utmost  to  dismiss  it  from  his  mind  in  order  to  preserve  his 
serenity ;  what  is  more,  he  reproached  himself  for  his  baseness 
in  being  ready  to  believe  it.  I  may  add  that  the  fact,  that  is 
the  existence  of  the  letter,  had  a  far  greater  effect  on  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  than  I  had  expected.  .  .  .  In  fact,  this  scrap  of  paper 
turned  out  to  be  of  far  greater  consequence  than  I,  carrying  it 
in  my  pocket,  had  imagined.     But  I  am  running  too  far  ahead. 

But  why,  I  shall  be  asked  to  my  lodgings  ?  Why  convey  the 
old  prince  to  my  pitiful  little  den,  and  alarm  him,  perhaps,  by 
the  sordidness  of  his  surroundings  ?  If  not  to  his  own  home 
(where  all  her  plans  might  be  thwarted  at  once),  why  not  to 
some  "  sumptuous  "  private  apartments,  as  Lambert  urged  ? 
But  it  was  just  on  this  that  Anna  Andreyevna  reckoned  in  her 
desperate  step. 

Her  chief  object  was  to  confront  the  prince  with  the  docu- 
ment ;  but  nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  give  it  up.  And 
as  there  was  no  time  to  lose,  Anna  Andreyevna,  relying  on  her 
power  to  carry  off  the  position,  resolved  to  begin  without  the 
document,  bringing  the  old  prince  straight  to  me — for  what 
purpose  ?  To  catch  me  by  that  same  step ;  so  to  say,  to  kill 
two  bird?  with  one  stone.  She  reckoned  on  working  upon  me 
by  the  sudden  blow,  the  shock,  the  unexpectedness  of  it.  She 
anticipated  that  when  I  found  the  old  man  in  my  room,  when 
I  saw  his  helplessness  and  his  alarm,  and  heard  them  all  imploring 
me,  I  should  give  in  and  show  the  document  !  I  must  confess 
her  calculation  was  crafty  and  clever,  and  showed  psychological 
insight ;  what  is  more,  she  was  very  nearly  successful.  ...  As 
for  the  old  man,  Anna  Andreyevna  had  succeeded  in  bringing 
him  away,  and  had  forced  him  to  believe  her  simply  by  telling 
him  that  she  was  bringing  him  to  me.  All  this  I  learned  later  ; 
the  mere  statement  that  the  letter  was  in  my  hands  extinguished 
in  his  timid  heart  the  last  doubts  of  the  fact — so  great  were  his 
love  and  respect  for  me  ! 

I  may  remark,  too,  that  Anna  Andreyevna  herself  never  for 
a  moment  doubted  that  I  still  had  the  letter  and  had  not  let  it 
go  out  of  my  hands  ;  her  great  mistake  was  that  she  had  a 
wrong  conception  of  my  character  and  was  synically  reckoning 
on  my  innocence,  my  good-nature,  and  even  my  sentimentahty  ; 

497 


and,  on  the  other  hand,  she  imagined  that  even  if  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  give  up  the  letter,  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna  for 
instance,  I  should  only  do  so  under  special  conditions,  and  she 
made  haste  to  anticipate  those  conditions  by  the  suddenness, 
the  unexpectedness  of  her  master-stroke. 

And,  finally,  Lambert  confirmed  her  in  all  this.  I  have  mentioned 
already  that  Lambert's  position  at  this  time  was  most  critical ; 
the  traitor  would  have  liked  above  everything  to  lure  me  from 
Anna  Andreyevna  so  that  with  him  I  might  sell  the  letter  to 
Mme.  Ahmakov,  which  he,  for  some  reason,  considered  a  more 
profitable  course  ;  but  since  nothing  would  induce  me  to  give  up 
the  document  till  the  last  moment,  he  decided,  at  any  rate,  to 
act  with  Anna  Andreyevna  also,  that  he  might  not  risk  losing 
everything,  and  therefore  he  did  his  utmost  to  force  his  services 
on  her  till  the  very  last  hour,  and  I  know  that  he  even  offered 
to  procure  a  priest,  if  necessary  .  .  .  but  Anna  Andreyevna 
had  asked  him,  with  a  contemptuous  smile,  not  to  suggest  this. 
Lambert  struck  her  as  horribly  coarse,  and  aroused  her  utmost 
aversion  ;  but  to  be  on  the  safe  side  she  still  accepted  his 
services,  as  a  spy  for  instance.  By  the  way,  I  do  not  know  for 
certain  to  this  day  whether  they  bought  over  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch, 
my  landlord,  and  whether  he  got  anything  at  all  from  them  for 
his  services,  or  whether  he  simply  worked  for  them  for  the  joy 
of  intrigue  ;  but  that  he  acted  as  a  spy  upon  me,  and  that  his 
wife  did  also,  I  know  for  a  fact. 

The  reader  will  understand  now  that  though  I  was  to  some 
extent  forewarned,  yet  I  could  not  have  guessed  that  the  next 
day,  or  the  day  after,  I  should  find  the  old  prince  in  my  lodgings 
and  in  such  circumstances.  Indeed,  I  never  could  have  con- 
ceived of  such  audacity  from  Anna  Andreyevna.  One  may  talk 
freely  and  hint  at  anything  one  likes,  but  to  decide,  to  act,  and 
to  carry  things  out — ^well,  that  really  is  character  1 


To  continue. 

I  waked  up  late  in  the  morning.  I  slept  an  exceptionally  sound 
and  dreamless  sleep,  as  I  remember  with  wonder,  so  that  I  waked 
up  next  morning  feeling  unusually  confident  again,  ae  though 
nothing  had  happened  the  day  before.  I  intended  not  going 
fixst  to  mother's  but  straight  to  the  church  of  the  cemetery,  wit  h 

498 


the  idea  of  returning  to  mother's  after  the  ceremony  and  remain- 
ing the  rest  of  the  day.  I  was  firmly  convinced  that  in  any  case 
I  should  meet  him  sooner  or  later  at  mother's. 

Neither  Alphonsine  nor  the  landlord  had  been  at  the  flat  for 
a  long  time.  I  would  not  on  any  account  question  the  landlady, 
and,  indeed,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  cut  off  all  relations  with 
them  for  the  future,  and  even  to  give  up  my  lodgings  as  soon 
as  I  could  ;  and  so,  as  soon  as  my  coffee  had  been  brought,  I 
put  the  hook  on  the  door  again.  But  suddenly  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  to  my  surprise  it  turned  out  to  be 
Trishatov. 

I  opened  the  door  at  once  and,  delighted  to  see  him,  asked 
him  to  come  in,  but  he  refused. 

"  I  will  only  say  two  words  from  the  door  ...  or,  perhaps, 
I  will  come  in,  for  I  fancy  one  must  talk  in  a  whisper  here  ;  only. 
I  won't  sit  down.  You  are  looking  at  my  horrid  coat  :  Lambert 
took  my  great-coat." 

He  was,  in  fact,  wearing  a  wretched  old  great-coat,  which  did 
not  fit  him.  He  stood  before  me  without  taking  off  his  hat, 
a  gloomy,  dejected  figure,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  won't  sit  down,  I  won't  sit  down.  Listen,  Dolgoruky, 
I  know  nothing  in  detail,  but  I  know  that  Lambert  is  preparing 
some  treachery  against  you  at  once,  and  you  won't  escape  it — 
and  that's  certain.  And  so  be  careful  •  I  was  told  by  that 
pock-marked  fellow,  do  you  remember  him  ?  But  he  did  not 
tell  me  anything  more  about  it,  so  I  can't  tell  you.  I've  only 
come  to  warn  you — good-bye." 

"  But  sit-  down,  dear  Trishatov  ;  though  I'm  in  a  hurry  I'm 
so  glad  to  see  you.  ..."  I  cried. 

"  I  won't  sit  down,  I  won't  sit  down  ;  but  I  shall  remember 
you  were  glad  to  see  me.  Oh,  Dolgoruky,  why  deceive  others  ? 
I've  consciously  of  my  ovm  free  will  consented  to  ever}'  .sort  of 
abomination,  to  tb'ngs  so  vile,  that  I  can't  speak  of  them  before 
you.  Now  we  are  at  the  pock-marked  fellow's.  Good-bye. 
I  am  not  worthy  to  sit  down  Avith  you." 

"  Nonsense,  Trishatov,  dear.  ..." 

"  No,  you  see,  Dolgoruky,  I  keep  a  bold  face  before  every 
one,  and  I'm  going  to  have  a  rollicking  time.  I  shall  soon  have 
a  better  fur  coat  than  my  old  one,  and  shall  be  driving  a  fast 
trotter.  But  I  shall  know  in  ray  own  mind  that  I  did  not  sit 
down  in  your  room,  because  I  judge  myself  unworthy,  because 
I'm  low  compared  with  you.     It  will  always  be  nice  for  me  to 

499 


remember  that  when  I'm  in  the  midst  of  disgraceful  debauchery. 
Good-bye,  good-bye.  And  I  won't  give  you  my  hand  ;  why, 
Alphonsine  won't  take  my  hand.  And  please  don't  follow  me 
or  come  to  see  me,  that's  a  compact  between  us." 

The  strange  boy  turned  and  went  out.  I  had  no  time  then, 
but  I  made  up  my  mind  to  seek  him  out  as  soon  as  I  had  settled 
our  affairs. 

I  won't  describe  the  rest  of  that  morning,  though  there  is  a 
great  deal  that  might  be  recalled.  Versilov  was  not  at  the 
funeral  service  in  the  church,  and  I  fancy  from  their  faces  I 
could  have  gathered  that  they  did  not  expect  him  there.  Mother 
prayed  devoutly  and  seemed  entirely  absorbed  in  the  service  ; 
there  were  only  Liza  and  Tatyana  Pavlovna  by  the  coffin.  But 
I  will  describe  nothing,  nothing.  After  the  burial  we  all  returned 
and  sat  down  to  a  meal,  and  again  I  gathered  by  their  faces  that 
he  was  not  expected  to  it.  When  we  rose  from  the  table,  I  went 
up  to  mother,  embraced  her  and  congratulated  her  on  her  birth- 
day ;   Liza  did  the  same  after  me. 

"  Listen,  brother,"  Liza  whispered  to  me  on  the  sly  ;  "  they 
are  expecting  him." 

*'  I  guessed  so,  Liza.     I  see  it." 

"  He's  certainly  coming." 

"  So  they  must  have  heard  something  positive,"  I  thought, 
but  I  didn't  ask  any  question.  Though  I'm  not  going  to  describe 
my  feelings,  all  this  mystery  began  to  weigh  like  a  stone 
upon  my  heart  again  in  spite  of  my  confident  mood.  We  all 
settled  down  in  the  drawing-room,  near  mother,  at  the  round 
table.  Oh,  how  I  liked  being  with  her  then,  and  looking  at 
her  !  Mother  suddenly  asked  me  to  read  something  out  of  the 
Gospel.  I  read  a  chapter  from  St.  Luke.  She  did  not  weep, 
and  was  not  even  very  sorrowful,  but  her  face  had  never  seemed 
to  me  so  full  of  spiritual  meaning.  There  was  the  light  of 
thought  in  her  gentle  eyes,  but  I  could  not  trace  in  them  any 
sign  that  she  expected  something  with  apprehension.  The 
conversation  never  flagged  ;  we  recalled  many  reminiscences  of 
Makar  Ivanovitch  ;  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  too,  told  us  many  things 
about  him  of  which  I  had  no  idea  before.  And,  in  fact,  it 
would  make  an  interesting  chapter  if  it  were  all  written 
down.  Even  Tatyana  Pavlovna  луоге  quite  a  different  air  from 
usual :  she  was  very  gentle,  very  affectionate,  and,  what  is  more, 
also  very  quiet,  though  she  talked  a  good  deal  to  distract  mother's 
miad.     But  one  detail  I  remember  well  :    mother  was  sitting 

500 


on  the  sofa,  and  on  a  special  round  table  on  her  left  there  lay, 
apparently  put  there  for  some  purpose,  a  plain  antique  ikon, 
with  halos  on  the  heads  of  the  saints,  of  which  there  were  two. 
This  ikon  had  belonged  to  Makar  Ivanovitch — I  knew  that,  and 
knew  also  that  the  old  man  had  never  parted  from  it,  and  looked 
upon  it  with  superstitious  reverence.  Tatyana  Pavlovna  glanced 
at  it  several  times. 

"  Listen,  Sofia,"  she  said,  suddenly  changing  the  conversation  ; 
"  instead  of  the  ikon's  lying  down,  would  it  not  be  better  to  stand 
it  up  on  the  table  against  the  wall,  and  to  light  the  lamp  before 
it?" 

"  No,  better  as  it  is,"  said  mother. 

"  I  dare  say  you're  right ;  it  might  seem  making  too  much 
fuss.  .  .  ." 

I  did  not  understand  at  the  time,  but  this  ikon  had  long 
ago  been  verbally  bequeathed  by  Makar  Ivanovitch  to  Audrey 
Petrovitch,  and  mother  was  preparing  to  give  it  to  him  now. 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  ;  we  were  still  talking 
when  I  noticed  a  sudden  quiver  in  mother's  face  ;  she  drew 
herself  up  quickly  and  began  listening,  while  Tatyana  PavlovTia, 
who  Avas  speaking  at  the  time,  went  on  talking  without  noticing 
anything.  I  at  once  turned  to  the  door,  and  an  instant  later 
saw  Andrey  Petrovitch  in  the  doorway.  He  had  come  in  by 
the  back  stairs,  through  the  kitchen  and  the  passage,  and  mother 
was  the  only  one  of  us  who  had  heard  his  footsteps.  Now  I 
will  describe  the  whole  of  the  insane  scene  that  followed,  word 
by  word,  and  gesture  by  gesture  ;   it  \\'as  brief. 

To  begin  with,  I  did  not,  at  the  first  glance  anyway,  observe 
the  slightest  change  in  his  face.  He  was  dressed  as  always, 
that  is  almost  foppishly  ;  in  his  hand  was  a  small  but  expensive 
nosegay  of  fresh  flowers.  He  went  up  and  handed  it  to  mother 
with  a  smile  ;  she  was  looking  at  him  Avith  frightened  perplexity, 
but  she  took  the  nosegay,  and  a  faint  flush  at  once  glowed  on 
her  pale  cheeks,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of  pleasure  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  knew  you  would  take  it  like  that,  Sonia,"  he  said.  As 
we  all  got  up  when  he  came  in,  he  took  Liza's  easy-chair,  which 
was  on  the  left  of  mother,  and  sat  down  in  it  without  noticing 
he  was  taking  her  seat.  And  so  he  was  quite  close  to  the  little 
table  on  which  the  ikon  was  lying. 

"  Good  evening  to  you  all  ;  I  felt  I  must  bring  you  this  nosegay 
on  your  birthday,  Sonia,  and  so  I  did  not  go  to  the  funeral,  as 
I  could  not  come  to  the  grave  with  a  nosegay  ;    and  you  didn't 

501 


expect  гае  at  the  funeral,  I  know.  The  old  man  certainly  won't 
be  angry  at  these  flowers,  for  he  bequeathed  us  joy  himself, 
didn't  he  ?     I  believe  he's  here  somewhere  in  the  room." 

Mother  looked  at  him  strangely  ;  Tatyana  Pavlovna  seemed 
to  wince. 

"  Who's  here  in  the  room  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Makar  Ivanovitch.  Never  mind.  You  know  that  the  man 
who  is  not  entirely  a  believer  in  these  marvels  is  always  more 
prone  to  superstition.  .  .  .  But  I  had  better  tell  you  about  the 
nosegay  :  how  I  succeeded  in  bringing  it  I  don't  know.  Three 
times  on  the  way  I  had  a  longing  to  throw  it  in  the  snow  and 
trample  on  it." 

Mother  shuddered. 

"  A  terrible  longing.  You  must  have  pity  on  me  and  my 
poor  head,  Sonia.  I  longed  to,  because  they  are  too  beautiful. 
Is  there  any  object  in  the  world  more  beautiful  than  a  flower  ? 
I  carried  it,  with  snow  and  frost  all  round.  Our  frost  and  flowers 
— such  an  incongruity  !  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that  though,  I 
simply  longed  to  crush  it  because  it  was  so  lovely.  Sonia, 
though  I'm  disappearing  again  now,  I  shall  soon  come  back, 
for  I  believe  I  shall  be  afraid.  If  I  am  afraid,  who  will  heal  me 
of  my  terrors,  where  can  I  find  an  angel  like  Sonia  ?  .  .  .  What 
is  this  ikon  you've  got  here  ?  Ah,  Makar  Ivanovitch's,  I 
remember.  It  belonged  to  his  family,  his  ancestors  ;  he  would 
never  part  from  it ;  I  know,  I  remember  he  left  it  to  me  ;  I 
quite  remember  .  .  .  and  I  fancy  it's  an  unorthodox  one.  Let 
me  have  a  look  at  it." 

He  took  up  the  ikon,  carried  it  to  the  light  and  looked  at  it 
intently,  but,  after  holding  it  a  few  seconds  only,  laid  it  on  the 
table  before  him<  I  was  astonished,  but  all  his  strange  speech 
was  uttered  so  quickly  that  I  had  not  time  to  reflect  upon  it. 
All  I  remember  is  that  a  sick  feeUng  of  dread  began  to  clutch 
at  ray  heart.  Mother's  alarm  had  passed  into  perplexity  and 
compassion  ;  she  looked  on  him  as  some  one,  above  all,  to  be 
pitied  ;  it  had  sometimes  happened  in  the  past  that  he  had 
talked  almost  as  strangely  as  now.  Liza,  for  some  reason, 
became  suddenly  very  pale,  and  strangely  made  a  sign  to  me 
with  a  motion  of  her  head  towards  him.  But  most  frightened 
of  all  was  Tatyana  Pavlovna. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Audrey  Petrovitch  darling  ?  " 
she  inquired  cautiously. 

"  I    really  don't  know,  Tatyana  Pavlovna  dear,  what's  the 

502 


matter  with  me.     Don't  be  uneasy,  I  still  remember  that  you 
are  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  and  that  you  are  dear.     But  I've  only 
come  for  a  minute  though  ;   I  should  like  to  say  something  nice 
to  Sonia,  and  I  keep  trying  to  find  the  right  word,  though  my 
heart  is  full  of  words,  which  I  don't  know  how  to  utter  ;    yes, 
really,  all  such  strange  words  somehow.     Do  you  know  I  feel 
as  though  I  were  split  in  two  " — he  looked  round  at  us  all  with 
a   terribly   serious   face   and   with   perfectly   genuine   candour. 
"  Yes,  I  am  really  split  in  two  mentally,  and  I'm  horribly  afraid 
of  it.     It's  just  as  though  one's  second  self  were  standing  beside 
one  ;    one  is  sensible  and  rational  oneself,  but  the  other  self  is 
impelled   to  do  something  perfectly  senseless,   and  sometimes 
very  funny  ;    and  suddenly  you  notice  that  you  are  longing  to 
do  that  amusing  thing,  goodness  knows  why  ;   that  is  you  want 
to,  as  it  were,  against  your  will;   though  you  fight  against  it 
with   all   ycDur  might,  you   want  to.      I   once   knew  a   doctor 
who  suddenly  began  whistling  in  church,  at  his  father's  funeral. 
I  really  was  afraid   to  come  to  the  funeral  to-day,   because, 
for   some    reason,  I  w&a  possessed    by  a  firm  conviction  that 
I    should    begin    to    whistle    or    laugh    in   church,    like    that 
unfortunate    doctor,    who   came    to   rather   a    bad    end.  .  .  . 
Ani  I  really  don't  know  why,  but  I've  been  haunted  by  the 
thought  of  that  doctor  all  day  ;   I  am  so  haunted  by  him  that 
I  can't  shake  him  ofiE.     Do  you  know,  Sonia,  here  I've  taken 
up  the  ikon  again  "  (he  had  picked  it  up  and  was  turning  it  about 
in  his  hand),  "and  do  you  know,  I  have  a  dreadful  longing  now, 
this  very  second,  to  smash  it  against  the  stove,  against  this 
comer     I  am  sure  it  would  break  into  two  halves — neither  more 
nor  loss." 

What  was  most  striking  was  that  he  said  this  without  the 
slightest  trace  of  affectation  or  whimsical  caprice  ;  he  spoke 
quite  simply,  but  that  made  it  all  the  more  terrible  ;  and  he 
seemed  really  frightened  of  something  ;  I  noticed  suddenly  that 
his  hands  were  trembling  a  little. 

"  Audrey  Petrovitch  !  "  cried  mother,  clasping  her  hands. 
"  Let  the  ikon  alone,  let  it  alone,  Audrey  Petrovitch,  let  it 
alone,  put  it  down  !  "  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  jumping  up. 
"  Undress  and  go  to  bed.     Arkady,  run  for  the  doctor  !  " 

"  But  .  .  .  but  what  a  fuss  you're  making,"  he  said  gently, 
scrutinising  us  all  intently.  Then  he  suddenly  put  both  elbows 
on  the  table  and  leaned  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"  I'm  scaring  you,  but  I  tell  you  what,  my  friends,  try  to 

503 


comfort  me  a  little,  sit  down  again,  and  all  be  calm,  if  only  for 
a  minute  !  Sonia,  I  did  not  come  to  talk  of  this  at  all ;  I  came 
to  tell  you  something,  but  it  was  quite  different.  Good-bye, 
Sonia,  I'm  going  off  on  my  wanderings  again,  ae  I  have  left  you 
several  times  before  .  .  .  but,  no  doubt,  I  shall  come  back 
to  you  again  one  day — ^in  that  sense  you  are  inevitable.  To 
whom  should  I  come  back,  when  all  is  over?  Beheve,  Sonia, 
that  I've  come  to  you  now  as  to  an  angel,  and  not  as  to  an 
enemy  ;  how  could  you  be  an  enemy  to  me,  how  could  you  be 
an  enemy  !  Don't  imagine  that  I  came  to  break  this  ikon, 
for  do  you  know,  Sonia,  I  am  still  longing  to  break  it  all  the 
same.  .  .  ." 

When  Tatyana  Pavlovna  had  cried  out  "  Let  the  ikon  alone," 
she  had  snatched  it  out  of  his  hands  and  was  holding  it  in  hers. 
Suddenly,  at  his  last  word,  he  jumped  up  impulsively,  snatched 
the  ikon  in  a  flash  from  Tatyana's  hands,  and  with  a  ferocious 
swing  smashed  it  with  all  his  might  against  the  corner  of  the 
tiled  stove.  The  ikon  was  broken  into  two  pieces.  .  .  .  He 
turned  to  us  and  his  pale  face  suddenly  flushed  red,  almost 
purple,  and  every  feature  in  his  face  quivered  and  worked. 

"  Don't  take  it  for  a  symbol,  Sonia  ;  it's  not  as  Makar's 
legacy  I  have  broken  it,  but  only  to  break  something  .  .  . 
and,  anyTvay,  I  shall  come  back  to  you,  my  last  angel  !  You 
may  take  it  as  a  symbol,  though  ;  of  course  it  must  have  been 
so!  .  .  ." 

And  with  sudden  haste  he  went  out  of  the  room,  going  again 
through  the  kitchen  (where  he  had  left  his  fur  coat  and  cap). 
I  won't  attempt  to  describe  what  happened  to  mother  :  in 
mortal  terror  she  stood  clasping  her  hands  above  her,  and  she 
suddenly  screamed  after  him  : 

"  Andrey  Petrovitch,  come  back,  if  only  to  say  good-bye, 
dear  !  " 

"  He'll  come,  Sofia,  he'll  come  !  Don't  worry  yourself  1  " 
Tatyana  shrieked,  trembling  all  over  in  a  terrible  rage,  a  really 
brutal  rage.  "  Why,  you  heard  he  promised  to  come  back 
himself  I  Let  him  go  and  amuse  himself  for  the  last  time,  the 
fool.  He's  getting  old — and  who'll  nurse  him  when  he's 
bedridden  except  you,  his  old  mu^e  1  Why,  he  teUs  you  so 
himself,  he's  not  ashamed.  .  .  ." 

As  for  us,  Liza  was  in  a  swoon  ;  I  would  have  run  after  him, 
but  I  rushed  to  mother.  I  threw  my  arms  round  her  and  held 
her  tight.     Lukerya  ran  in  with  a  glass  of  water  for  Liza,  but 

504 


mother  soon  came  to  herself,  she  sank  on  the  sofa,  hid  her  face 
in  her  hands,  and  began  crying. 

"  But  .  .  .  but  you'd  better  run  after  him,"  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  shouted  suddenly  with  all  her  might,  as  though  she 
had  suddenly  waked  up,  "  Go  along  ...  go  along  .  .  . 
overtake  him,  don't  leave  hira  for  a  minute,  go  along,  go 
along  !  "  She  pulled  me  forcibly  away  from  mother.  "  Oh, 
I  shall  run  myself." 

"  Arkasha,  oh,  run  after  him,  make  haste  1  "  mother  cried 
suddenly,  too. 

I  ran  off,  full  speed,  through  the  kitchen  and  through  the 
yard,  but  there  was  no  sign  .of  him  anywhere.  In  the  distan-je 
I  saw  black  shadows  in  the  darkness  ;  I  ran  after  them  and 
examined  each  passer-by  carefully  as  I  overtook  them.  So 
I  ran  on  to  the  cross-roads. 

"  People  are  not  angry  with  the  insane,"  suddenly  flashed 
through  my  mind,  "  but  Tatyana  was  wild  with  rage  at  him, 
so  he's  not  mad  at  all.  .  .  ."  Oh,  it  seemed  to  me  all  the  time 
that  it  was  symbolic,  and  that  he  was  bent  on  putting  an  end 
to  everything  as  he  did  to  the  ikon,  and  showing  that  to  us,  to 
mother,  and  all.  But  that  second  self  was  unmistakably  beside 
him,  too  ;  of  that  there  could  be  no  doubt.  .  .  , 


He  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  however,  and  I  could  not  run 
to  him.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  he  would  have  simply 
gone  home.  Suddenly  an  idea  flashed  upon  me  and  I  rushed 
o£f  to  Anna  Andreyevna. 

Anna  Andreyevna  had  just  returned,  and  I  was  shown  up  at 
once.  I  went  in,  controlling  myself  as  far  as  I  could.  Without 
sitting  down,  I  at  once  described  to  her  the  scene  which  had 
just  taken  place,  that  is  the  "  second  self."  I  shall  never  forget 
the  greedy  but  pitilessly  composed  and  self-complacent  curiosity 
with  which  she  listened,  also  standing,  and  I  shall  never  forgive 
her  for  it. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Perhaps  you  know  ?  "  I  ended,  insistently. 
*'  Tatyana  Pavlovna  sent  me  to  you  yesterday.  .  .  ," 

"  I  sent  for  you,  too,  yesterday.  Yesterday  he  was  at  Xsarskoe 
Syelo  ;  he  came  to  see  me,  too.  And  now  "  (she  looked  at  her 
watch),  "  now  it  is  seven  o'clock.  ...  So  he's  pretty  sure  to 
be  at  home." 

505 


"  I  see  that  you  know  all  about  it — so  tell  me,  tell  me,"  I 
cried. 

"  I  know  a  good  deal ;  but  I  don't  know  everything.  Of 
course,  there's  no  reason  to  conceal  it  from  you.  .  .  ."  She 
scanned  me  with  a  strange  glance,  smiling  and  as  though 
deliberating.  "  Yesterday  morning,  in  answer  to  her  letter, 
he  made  Kateritna  Nikolaevna  a  formal  ofifer  of  marriage." 

"  That's  false,"  I  said,  opening  my  eyes  wide. 

"  The  letter  went  through  my  hands  ;  I  took  it  to  her  myself, 
unopened.  This  time  he  behaved  '  chivalrously  '  and  concealed 
nothing  from  me." 

"  Anna  Andre j'evna,  I  can't  understand  it !  " 

"  Of  course,  it's  hard  to  understand  it,  but  it's  like  a  gambler 
who  stakes  his  last  crown,  while  he  has  a  loaded  pistol  ready  in 
his  pocket — that's  what  his  offer  amoxmts  to.  It's  ten  to  one 
she  won't  accept  his  offer  ;  but  still  he's  reckoning  on  that 
tenth  chance,  and  I  confess  that's  very  curious  ;  I  imagine, 
though,  that  it  may  be  a  case  of  frenzy,  that  '  second  self,'  as 
you  said  so  well  just  now." 

"  And  you  laugh  ?  And  am  I  really  to  believe  that  the  letter 
was  given  through  you  ?  Why,  you  are  the  fiancee  of  her 
father  ?     Spare  me,  Anna  Andreyevna  !  " 

"  He  asked  me  to  sacrifice  my  future  to  his  happiness,  though 
he  didn't  really  ask  ;  it  was  all  done  rather  silently.  I  simply 
read  it  all  in  his  eyes.  Oh,  my  goodness,  what  will  he  do  next ! 
Why,  he  went  to  Konigsberg  to  ask  your  mother's  leave  to  marry 
Katerina  Nikolaevna's  step-daughter.  That's  very  like  his 
pitching  on  me  for  his  go-between  and  confidante  yesterday." 

She  was  rather  pale.  But  her  calmness  was  only  exaggerated 
sarcasm.  Oh,  I  forgave  her  much  then,  as  I  began  to  grasp  the 
position.     For  a  minute  I  pondered  ;  she  waited  in  silence, 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  laughed  suddenly,  "  you  delivered  the 
letter  because  there  was  not  the  slightest  risk  for  you,  because 
there's  no  chance  of  a  marriage,  but  what  of  him  ?  Of  her,  too  1 
Of  course  she  will  reject  his  offer  and  then  .  .  .  what  may  not 
happen  then  ?  Where  is  he  now,  Anna  Andreyevna  ?  "  I  cried. 
"  Every  minute  is  precious  now,  any  minute  there  may  be 
trouble  !  " 

"  He's  at  home.  I  have  told  you  so.  In  the  letter  to  Katerina 
Nikolaevna,  which  I  delivered,  he  asked  her  in  any  case  to  grant 
him  an  interview  in  his  lodgings  to-day  at  seven  o'clock  this 
evening.     She  promised." 

506 


**  She's  going  to  his  lodging  ?     How  can  that  be  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  the  lodging  is  Darya  Onisimovna's  ;  they  might 
very  well  meet  there  as  her  guests.  ..." 

"  But  she's  afraid  of  him.  ...  He  may  kill  her." 

Anna  Andreyevna  only  smiled. 

"  In  spite  of  the  terror  which  I  detected  in  her  myself,  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  has  always  from  the  first  cherished  a  certain  reve- 
rence and  admiration  for  the  nobility  of  Andrey  Petrovitch's 
principles  and  the  loftiness  of  his  mind.  She  is  trusting  herself 
to  him  this  once,  so  ая  to  have  done  with  him  for  ever.  In  his 
letter  he  gave  her  the  most  solemn  and  chivalrous  promise  that 
she  should  have  nothing  to  fear.  ...  In  short,  I  don't  remember 
the  words  of  the  letter,  but  she  trusted  herself  ...  so  to  speak, 
for  the  last  time  .  .  .  and  so  to  speak,  responding  with  the 
same  heroic  feeUngs.  There  may  have  been  a  sort  of  chivalrous 
rivalry  on  both  sides." 

"  But  the  second  self,  the  second  self  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  "  besides, 
he's  out  of  his  mind  ! " 

"  Yesterday,  when  she  gave  her  promise  to  grant  him  an 
interview,  Katerina  Nikolaevna  probably  did  not  conceive  of 
the  possibility  of  that." 

I  suddenly  turned  and  was  rushing  out  ...  to  him,  to  them, 
of  course  !     But  from  the  next  room  I  ran  back  for  a  second. 

"  Fiut,  perhaps,  that  is  just  what  would  suit  you,  that  he 
should  kill  her  !  "  I  cried,  and  ran  out  of  the  house. 

I  was  shaking  all  over,  as  though  in  a  fit,  but  I  went  into  the 
lodging  quietly,  through  the  kitchen,  and  asked  in  a  whisper  to 
see  Darya  Onisimovna  ;  she  came  out  at  once  and  fastened  a 
gaze  of  intense  curiosity  upon  me. 

"  His  honour  .  .  .  he's  not  at  home." 

But  in  a  rapid  whisper  I  explained,  bluntly  and  exactly,  that 
I  knew  all  about  it  from  Anna  Andreyevna,  and  that  I  had  just 
come  from  her. 

"Darya  Onisimovna,  where  are  they  ?  " 

"  They  are  in  the  room  where  you  sat  the  day  before  yesterday, 
at  the  table." 

"  Darya  Onisimovna,  let  me  go  in  1  " 

"  That's  impossible  !  " 

"  Not  in  there,  but  in  the  next  room.  Darya  Onisimovna, 
Anna  Andreyevna  wishes  it,  perhaps  ;  if  she  didn't  wish  it,  she 
wouldn't  have  told  me  herself.  They  won't  hear  me  .  .  .  she 
wishes  it  herself.  ..." 

507 


"  And  if  she  doesn't  wish  it  ?  "  said  Darya  Onisimovna,  her 
eyes  still  riveted  upon  me. 

"  Darya  Onisimovna,  I  remember  your  Olya  ;  let  me  in." 

Her  lips  and  chin  suddenly  began  to  quiver. 

"  Dear  friend  .  .  .  for  Olya's  sake  ,  .  .  for  the  sake  of  your 
feeling  .  .  .  don't  desert  Anna  Andreyevna.  My  dear  !  you 
won't  desert  her,  will  you  ?     You  won't  desert  her  ?  " 

"  No,  I  won't !  " 

"  Give  me  your  solemn  promise,  you  won't  rush  out  upon 
them,  and  won't  call  out  if  I  hide  you  in  there  ?  " 

"  I  swear  on  my  honour,  Darya  Onisimovna." 

She  took  me  by  my  coat,  led  me  into  a  dark  room — next  to  the 
one  where  they  were  sitting — guided  me,  almost  noiselessly,  over 
the  soft  carpet  to  the  doorway,  stationed  me  at  the  curtain  that 
hung  over  it,  and  lifting  the  curtain  a  fraction  of  an  inch  showed 
me  them  both. 

I  remained  ;  she  went  away.  Of  course,  I  remained.  I 
knew  that  I  was  eavesdropping,  spying  on  other  people's  secrets, 
but  I  remained.  How  could  I  help  remaining  with  the  thought 
of  the  '  second  self '  in  my  mind  1  Why,  he  had  smashed  the 
ikon  before  my  eyes  ! 


They  were  sitting  facing  one  another  at  the  table  at  which 
we  had  yesterday  drunk  to  his  "  resurrection."  I  got  a  good 
view  of  their  faces.  She  was  wearing  a  simple  black  dress,  and 
was  as  beautiful  and  apparently  calm  as  always.  He  was  speak- 
ing ;  she  was  listening  with  intense  and  sympathetic  attention. 
Perhaps  there  was  some  trace  of  timidity  in  her,  too.  He  was 
terribly  excited.  I  had  come  in  the  middle  of  their  conversation, 
and  so  for  some  time  I  could  make  nothing  of  it.  I  remember 
she  suddenly  asked  : 

"  And  I  was  the  cause  ?  " 

"  No,  I  was  the  cause,"  he  answered  ;  "  and  you  were  only 
innocently  guilty.  You  know  that  there  are  the  innocently 
guilty.  Those  are  generally  the  most  unpardonable  crimes,  and 
they  almost  always  bring  their  punishment,"  he  added,  L.ughing 
strangely.  "  And  I  actually  thought  for  a  moment  that  I  had 
forgotten  you  and  could  laugh  at  my  stupid  passion  .  .  .  but 
you  know  that.  What  is  he  to  me,  though,  that  man  you're 
going  to  marry  ?     Yesterday  I  made  you  an  offer,  forgive  me 

508 


for  it ;  it  was  absurd  and  yet  I  had  no  alternative  but  that.  .  .  . 
What  could  I  have  done  but  that  absurd  thing  ?  I  don't  know. . . ." 

As  he  said  this,  he  laughed  hopelessly,  suddenly  lifting  his 
eyes  to  her  ;  till  then  he  had  looked  away  a»S  he  talked.  If  I 
had  been  in  her  place,  I  should  have  been  ^frightened  at  that 
laugh,  I  felt  that.     He  suddenly  got  up  from  his  chair. 

"  Tell  me,  how  could  you  consent  to  come  here  ?  "  he  asked 
suddenly,  as  though  remembering  the  real  point.  "  My  invita» 
tion  and  my  whole  letter  was  absurd.  .  .  .  Stay,  I  can  quite 
imagine  how  it  came  to  pass  that  you  consented  to  come,  but — 
why  did  you  come  ?  that's  the  question.  Can  you  have  come 
simply  from  fear  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  see  you,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  timid 
caution.  Both  were  silent  for  half  a  minute.  Versilov  sank 
back  in  his  chair,  and  in  a  voice  soft  but  almost  trembling  and 
full  of  intense  feeling  began  : 

"  It's  so  terribly  long  since  I've  seen  you,  Katerina  Nikolaevna, 
so  long  that  I  scarcely  thought  it  possible  I  should  ever  be  sitting 
beside  you  again  as  I  now  am,  looking  into  уош:  face  and  listening 
to  your  voice.  .  .  .  For  two  years  we've  not  seen  each  other, 
for  two  years  we've  not  talked.  I  never  thought  to  speak  to 
you  again.  But  so  be  it,  what  is  past  is  past,  and  what  is  will 
vanish  like  smoke  to-morrow — so  be  it  !  I  assent  because  there 
is  no  alternative  again,  but  don't  let  your  coming  be  in  vain," 
he  added  suddenly,  almost  imploringly  ;  "  since  you  have  shown 
me  this  charity  and  have  come,  don't  let  it  be  in  vain  ;  answer 
me  one  question  !  " 

"  What  question  ?  " 

"  You  know  we  shall  never  see  each  other  again,  and  what  is 
it  to  you  ?  Tell  me  the  truth  for  once,  and  answer  me  one 
question  which  sensible  people  never  ask.  Did  you  ever  love 
me,  or  was  I  .  .  .  mistaken  ?  " 

She  flushed  crimson. 

"  I  did  love  you,"  she  brought  out. 

I  expected  she  would  say  that.  Oh,  always  truthful,  always 
sincere,  always  honest  ! 

"  And  now  ?  "  he  went  on. 

"  I  don't  love  you  now." 

"  And  you  are  laughing  ?  " 

"  No,  I  laughed  just  now  by  accident,  because  I  knew  you 
would  ask.  '  And  now.'  And  I  smiled  at  that,  because  when 
one  guesses  right  one  always  does  smile.  ..." 

509 


It  seemed  quite  strange  to  me  ;  I  had  never  seen  her  so  much 
on  her  guard,  almost  timid,  indeed,  and  embarrassed. 

His  eyes  devoured  her. 

"  I  know  that  you  don't  love  me  .  .  .  and — you  don't  love 
me  at  all  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not  at  all.  I  don't  love  you,"  she  added  firmly, 
without  smiling  or  flushing.  "  Yes,  I  did  love  you,  but  not  for 
long.     I  very  soon  got  over  it." 

"  I  know,  I  know,  you  saw  that  it  was  not  what  you  wanted, 
but  .  .  .  what  do  you  want  ?     Explain  that  once  more.  .  .  ." 

"  Have  I  ever  explained  that  to  you  ?  What  do  I  want  ? 
Why,  I'm  the  most  ordinary  woman  ;  I'm  a  peaceful  person. 
I  Uke  ...  I  like  cheerful  people." 

"  Cheerful  ?  " 

"  You  see,  I  don't  know  even  how  to  talk  to  you.  I  believe 
that  if  you  could  have  loved  me  less,  I  should  have  loved  you 
then,"  she  smiled  timidly  again.  The  most  absolute  sincerity 
was  transparent  in  her  answer  ;  and  was  it  possible  she  did 
not  realise  that  her  answer  was  the  most  final  summing  up  of 
their  relations,  explaining  everything.  Oh,  how  well  he  must  have 
xmderstood  that !     But  he  looked  at  her  and  smiled  strangely. 

"  Is  Buring  a  cheerful  person  1  "  he  went  on,  questioning 
her. 

"  He  ought  not  to  trouble  you  at  all,"  she  answered  with  some 
haste.  "  I'm  marrjring  him  simply  because  with  him  I  shall 
be  most  at  peace.     My  whole  heart  remains  in  my  own  keeping." 

"  They  say  that  you  have  grown  fond  of  society,  of  the  fashion- 
able world  again  ?  " 

"  Not  fond  of  it.  I  know  that  there  is  just  the  same  disorderhness 
in  good  society  as  everywhere  else  ;  but  the  outer  forms  are 
still  attractive,  so  that  if  one  lives  only  to  pass  the  time,  one 
can  do  it  better  there  than  anywhere." 

"  I've  often  heard  the  word  '  disorderliness  '  of  late  ;  you 
used  to  be  afraid  of  my  disorderhness,  too — chains,  ideas,  and 
imbeciUties  !  " 

"  No,  it  was  not  quite  that,  .  .  ." 

"  What  then,  for  God's  sake  tell  me  all,  frankly." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  frankly,  for  I  look  on  you  as  a  man  of 
great  intellect.  ...  I  always  felt  there  was  something  ridiculous 
about  you."  When  she  had  said  this  she  suddenly  flushed 
crimson,  as  though  she  feared  she  had  said  something  fearfully 
indiscreet, 

510 


"  For  what  you  have  just  said  I  can  forgive  you  a  great  deal," 
he  commented  strangely. 

"  I  hadn't  finished,"  she  said  hurriedly,  still  flushing.  "  It's 
I  who  am  ridiculous  to  talk  to  you  like  a  fool." 

"  No,  you  are  not  ridiculous,  you  are  only  a  depraved,  worldly 
woman,"  he  said,  turning  horribly  white.  "  I  did  not  finish 
either,  when  I  asked  you  why  you  had  come.  Would  you  like 
me  to  finish  ?  There  is  a  document,  a  letter  in  existence,  and 
you're  awfully  afraid  of  it,  because  if  that  letter  comes  into 
your  father's  hands,  he  may  curse  you,  and  cut  you  out  of  his 
will.  You're  afraid  of  that  letter,  and  you've  come  for  that 
letter,"  he  brought  out.  He  was  shaking  all  over,  and  his  teeth 
were  almost  chattering.  She  listened  to  him  with  a  despondent 
and  pained  expression  of  face. 

"  I  know  that  you  can  do  all  sorts  of  things  to  harm  me,"  she 
said,  as  if  warding  ofi  his  words,  "  but  I  have  come  not  so  much 
to  persuade  you  not  to  persecute  me,  as  to  see  you  yourself. 
I've  been  wanting  to  meet  you  very  much  for  a  long  time.  But 
I  find  you  just  the  same  as  ever,"  she  added  suddenly,  as  though 
carried  away  by  a  special  and  striking  thought,  and  even  by 
some  strange  sudden  emotion. 

"  Did  you  hope  to  see  me  different,  after  my  letter  about 
your  depravity  ?  Tell  me,  did  you  come  here  without  any 
fear  ?  " 

"  I  came  because  I  once  loved  you  ;  but  do  you  know,  I  beg 
you  not  to  threaten  me,  please,  with  anjrthing.  While  we  are 
now  together,  don't  remind  me  of  my  evil  thoughts  and  feelings. 
If  you  could  talk  to  me  of  something  else  I  should  be  very  glad. 
Let  threats  come  afterwards  ;  but  it  should  be  different  now.  .  . 
I  came  really  to  see  you  for  a  minute  and  to  hear  you.  Oh,  well, 
if  you  can't  help  it,  kill  me  straight  off,  only  don't  threaten  me 
and  don't  torture  yourself  before  me,"  she  concluded,  looking 
at  him  in  strange  exj)ectation,  as  though  she  really  thought  he 
might  kill  her.  He  got  up  from  his  seat  again,  and  looking  at 
her  with  glowing  eyes,  said  resolutely  : 

"  While  you  are  here  you  will  suffer  not  the  slightest  annoy- 
ance." 

"  Oh  yes,  your  word  of  honour,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  No,  not  only  because  I  gave  my  word  of  honoiu:  in  my  letter, 
but  because  I  want  to  think  of  you  all  night.  .  .  ." 

"  To  torture  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  picture  you  in  my  mind  whenever  I'm  alone.     I  do  nothin/j 

511 


but  talk  to  you.  I  go  into  some  squalid,  dirty  hole,  and  as  a 
contrast  you  appear  to  me  at  once.  But  you  always  laugh  at 
me  as  you  do  now.  ..."  He  said  this  as  though  he  were 
beside  himself.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  never  laughed  at  you,  never  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a 
voice  full  of  feeling,  and  with  a  look  of  the  greatest  compassion 
in  her  face.  "  In  coming  here  I  tried  my  utmost  to  do  it  so 
that  you  should  have  no  reason  to  be  mortified,"  she  added 
suddenly.  "  I  came  here  to  tell  you  that  I  almost  love  you. 
.  .  .  Forgive  me,  perhaps  I  used  the  wrong  words,"  she  went 
on  hurriedly. 

He  laughed. 

"  How  is  it  you  cannot  dissemble  ?  Why  is  it  you  are  such 
a  simple  creature  ?  Why  is  it  you're  not  like  all  the  rest  ?  .  .  . 
Why,  how  can  you  tell  a  man  you  are  turning  away  that  you 
'  almost  love  him  '  ?  " 

"  It's  only  that  I  could  not  express  myself,"  she  put  in 
hurriedly.  "  I  used  the  wrong  words  ;  it's  because  I've  always 
felt  abashed  and  imable  to  talk  to  you  from  the  first  time  I 
met  you,  and  if  I  used  the  wrong  words,  saying  that  I  almost 
love  you,  in  my  thought  it  was  almost  so — so  that's  why  I  said 
so,  though  I  love  you  with  that  .  .  .  well,  with  that  general 
love  with  which  one  loves  every  one  and  which  one  is  never 
ashamed  to  own.  .  .  ." 

He  listened  in  silence,  fixing  his  glowing  eyes  upon  her. 

"  I  am  ofif ending  you,  of  course,"  he  went  on,  as  though  beside 
himself.  "This  must  really  be  what  they  call  passion.  .  .  . 
All  I  know  is  that  in  your  presence  I  am  done  for,  in  your  absence, 
too.  It's  just  the  same  whether  you  are  there  or  not,  wherever 
you  may  be  you  are  always  before  me.  I  know,  too,  that  I  can 
hate  you  intensely,  more  than  I  can  love  you.  But  I've  long 
given  up  thinking  about  anj^hing  now — it's  all  the  same  to  me. 
I  am  only  sorry  I  should  love  a  woman  like  you." 

His  voice  broke  ;  he  went  on,  as  it  were,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  What  is  it  to  you  ?  You  think  it  wild  of  me  to  talk  like 
that !  "  He  smiled  a  pale  smile.  "  I  beKeve,  if  only  that  would 
charm  you,  I  would  be  ready  to  stand  for  thirty  years  like  a 
post  on  one  leg.  ...  I  see  you  are  sorry  for  me  ;  your  face 
says  '  I  would  love  you  if  I  could  but  I  can't.  .  .  .'  Yes  ?  Never 
mind,  I've  no  pride.  I'm  ready  to  take  any  charity  from  vou 
like  a  beggar — do  you  hear,  any  ...  a  beggar  has  no  pride." 
She  got  up  and  went  to  him.     "  Dear  friend,"  she  said,  with 

512 


inexpressible  feeling  in  her  face,  touching  his  shoulder  with  her 
hand,  "  I  can't  hear  you  talk  Цке  that !  I  shall  think  of  you 
all  my  life  as  some  one  most  precious,  great-hearted,  as  some 
thing  most  sacred  of  all  that  I  respect  and  love.  Audrey  Petro 
vitch,  vmderstand  what  I  say.  Why,  it's  not  for  nothing  I've 
come  here  now,  dear  friend  .  .  .  dear  to  me  then  and  now  : 
I  shall  never  forget  how  deeply  you  stirred  my  mind  when  first 
we  met.  Let  us  part  as  friends,  and  you  will  be  for  me  the 
most  earnest  and  dearest  thought  in  my  whole  life." 

"  Let  us  part  and  then  I  will  love  you  ;  I  will  love  you — only 
let  us  part.  Listen,"  he  brought  out,  perfectly  white,  "  grant 
me  one  charity  more  :  don't  love  me,  don't  live  with  me,  let 
us  never  meet ;  I  will  be  your  slave  if  you  summon  me,  and  I 
will  vanish  at  once  if  you  don't  want  to  see  me,  or  hear  me 
only  .  .  .  only  don't  marry  anyone  !  " 

It  sent  a  pang  to  my  heart  to  hear  those  words.  That  naively 
humiliating  entreaty  was  the  more  pitiful,  the  more  heartrending 
for  being  so  flagrant  and  impossible.  Yes,  indeed,  he  was  asking 
charity  !  Could  he  imagine  she  would  consent  ?  Yet  he  had 
humbled  himself  to  put  it  to  the  test ;  he  had  tried  entreating 
her  !  This  depth  of  spiritual  degradation  was  insufferable  to 
watch.  Every  feature  in  her  face  seemed  suddenly  distorted 
with  pain,  but  before  she  had  time  to  utter  a  word,  he  suddenly 
realised  what  he  had  done. 

"  I  will  strangle  you,"  he  said  suddenly,  in  a  strange  distorted 
voice  unlike  his  own. 

But  she  answered  him  strangely,  too,  and  she,  too,  spoke  in 
a  different  voice,  unlike  her  own. 

"  If  I  granted  you  charity,"  she  said  with  sudden  firmness, 
"  you  would  punish  me  for  it  afterwards  worse  than  you  threaten 
me  now,  for  you  лvould  never  forget  that  you  stood  before  me 
as  a  beggar.  ...  I  can't  listen  to  threats  from  you  !  "  she  added, 
looking  at  him  with  indignation,  almost  defiance. 

"  '  Threats  from  you,'  you  mean — from  such  a  beggar.  I  was 
joking,"  he  said  softly,  smiling.  "I  won't  touch  you,  don't  be 
afraid,  go  away  .  .  .  and  I'll  do  my  utmost  to  send  you  that 
letter — only  go  ;  go  !  I  wrote  you  a  stupid  letter,  and  you 
answered  my  stupid  letter  in  kind  by  coming ;  we  are  quits.  This 
is  your  way."  He  pointed  towards  the  door.  (She  was  moving 
towards  the  room  in  which  I  was  standing  behind  the  curtain.) 
"  Forgive  me  if  you  can,"  she  said,  stopping  iii  the  doorway. 
"  What  if  we  meet  some  day  quite  friends  and  recall  this 


scene  \nth  laughter  ?  "  he  said  suddenly,  but  his  face  was 
quivering  all  over  like  the  face  of  a  man  in  convulsions. 

"  Oh,  od  grant  we  may !  "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands, 
though  she  watched  his  face  timidly,  ae  though  trying  to  guesvS 
what  he  meant. 

"Go  along.  Much  sense  we  have,  the  pair  of  us,  but  you 
.  .  .  Oh,  you  are  one  of  my  own  kind  !  I  wrote  you  a  mad 
letter,  and  you  agreed  to  come  to  tell  me  that  '  you  almost 
love  me.'  Yes,  we  are  possessed  by  the  same  madness  !  Be 
always  as  mad,  don't  change,  and  we  shall  meet  as  friends — 
that  I  predict,  that  I  swear  !  " 

"  And  then  I  shall  certainly  love  you,  for  I  feel  that  even 
now  !  "  The  woman  in  her  could  not  resist  flinging  those  last 
words  to  him  from  the  doorway. 

She  went  out.  With  noiseless  haste  I  went  into  the  kitchen, 
and  scarcely  glancing  at  Darya  Onisimovna,  who  was  waiting 
for  me,  I  went  down  the  back  staircase  and  across  the  yard  into 
the  street,  but  I  had  only  time  to  see  her  get  into  the  sledge 
that  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  steps.     I  ran  down  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XI 


I  BAN  to  Lambert.  Oh,  how  I  should  have  liked  to  give  я  show  of 
logic  to  my  behaviour,  and  to  find  some  trace  of  common  s^nse 
in  my  actions  that  evening  and  all  that  night ;  but  even  now, 
when  I  can  reflect  on  it  all,  I  am  utterly  unable  to  present  my 
conduct  in  any  clear  and  logical  connection.  It  was  a  case  of 
feeling,  or  rather  a  perfect  chaos  of  feelings,  in  the  midst  of  which 
I  was  naturally  bound  to  go  astray.  It  is  true  there  was  one 
dominant  feeling,  which  mastered  me  completely  and  over- 
whelmed all  the  others,  but  .  .  .'  need  I  confess  to  it  ?  Especi- 
ally as  I  am  not  certain.  .  .  . 

I  ran  to  Lambert,  beside  myself  of  course.  I  positively 
scared  Alphonsine  and  him  for  the  first  minute.  I  have  always 
noticed  that  even  the  most  profligate,  most  degraded  Frenchmen 
rae  in  their  domestic  life  extremely  given  to  a  sort  of  bourgeois 
routine,  a  sort  of  very  prosaic  daily  ceremonial  of  life  established 
once  and  for  ever.  Lambert  quickly  realised,  however,  that 
something  had  hapi)ened,  and  was  delighted  that  I  had  come  to 

54 


him  at  last,  and  that  I  was  in  his  clutches.  He  had  been  think- 
ing of  nothing  else  day  and  night !  Oh,  how  badly  he  needed 
me  !  And  behold  now,  when  he  had  lost  all  hope,  I  had  suddenly 
appeared  of  my  own  accord,  and  in  such  a  frantic  state — just 
in  the  state  which  suited  him. 

"Lambert,  wine  !  "  I  cried  :  "  let's  drink,  let's  have  a  jolly 
time.     Alphonsine,  where's  your  guitar  ?  " 

I  won't  describe  the  scene,  it's  unnecessary.  We  drank,  and 
I  told  him  all  about  it,  everything.  He  listened  greedily.  I 
openly  of  my  own  accord  suggested  a  plot,  a  general  flare-up. 
To  begin  with,  we  were  by  letter  to  ask  Katerina  Nikolaevna  to 
come  to  us.  .  .  . 

"  That's  possible,"  Lambert  assented,  gloating  over  every 
word  I  said. 

Secondly,  we  must  send  a  copy  of  the  "document"  in  full, 
that  she  might  see  at  once  that  she  was  not  being  deceived. 

"  That's  right,  that's  what  we  must  do  !  "  Lambert  agreed, 
continually  exchanging  glances  with  Alphonsine. 

Thirdly,  Lambert  must  ask  her  to  come,  writing  as  though  he 
were  an  unknown  person  and  had  just  arrived  from  Moscftw, 
and  I  must  bring  Versilov. 

"  And  we  might  have  Versilov,  too,"  Lambert  assented. 

"  Not  might,  but  must !  "  I  cried.  "  It's  essential  !  It's  for 
his  sake  it's  all  being  done  !  "  I  explained,  taking  one  sip  after 
another  from  my  glass.  (We  were  all  three  drinking,  while  I 
believe  I  really  drank  the  whole  bottle  of  champagne,  while  they 
only  made  a  show  of  drinking.)  "  Versilov  and  I  will  sit  in  the 
next  room  " — (Lambort  would  have  to  take  the  next  room  !) — 
"  and  suddenly  when  she  had  agreed  to  everything — to  paying  the 
cash,  and  to  his  other  demands  too,  for  all  women  were  abject 
creatures,  then  Versilov  and  I  would  come  in  and  convict  her 
of  being  abject,  and  Versilov,  seeing  what  a  horrid  woman 
she  was,  would  at  once  be  cured,  and  reject  her  with  scorn. 
Only  we  ought  to  have  Biiring  too,  that  he  might  see  her 
put  to  shame." 

"  No,  we  don't  want  Biiring,"  Lambert  observed. 

"  We  do,  we  do,"  I  yelled  again  :  "  you  don't  know  anything 
about  it,  Lambert,  for  you  are  a  fool  !  On  the  contrary,  let  it 
make  a  scandal  in  fashionable  society,  it  will  be  our  revenge 
on  fashionable  society,  and  upon  her,  and  let  her  be  punished  1 
Lambert,  she  will  give  you  an  lOU.  ...  I  don't  want  money, 
I  don't  care  a  damn  for  money,  but  you  can  stoop  to  pick  it  up 

515 


and  stuff  it  in  your  pocket,  and  my  curse  with  it,  but  I  shall 
crush  her  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Lambert  kept  approving,  "you  are  right  there." 

He  kept  exchanging  glances  with  Alphonsine. 

"  Lambert,  she  has  an  awful  reverence  for  Versilov :  I  saw 
that  for  certain  just  now,"  I  babbled  to  him. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  you  did  peep  and  see  it  all.  I  should  never 
have  thought  that  you  would  have  made  such  a  good  spy  and  that 
you  had  so  much  sense  !  "     He  said  this  to  flatter  me. 

"  That's  a  lie,  Frenchman ;  I'm  not  a  spy,  but  I  have  plenty  of 
sense  !  And  do  you  know,  Lambert,  she  loves  him,  really  !  " 
I  went  on  making  desperate  efforts  to  express  myself.  "  But  she 
won't  marry  him  because  Buring's  an  officer  in  the  guards,  and 
Versilov  is  only  a  noble-hearted  man,  and  a  friend  of  humanity  : 
to  their  thinking  a  comic  person  and  nothing  else  !  Oh,  she 
understands  his  passion  and  gloats  over  it,  flirts,  is  carried  away 
by  it,  but  won't  marry  him  !  She's  a  woman,  she's  a  serpent  ! 
Every  woman  is  a  serpent,  and  every  serpent  is  a  woman !  He 
must  be  cured  ;  we  must  tear  the  scales  off  his  eyes  ;  let  him  see 
what  she  is  and  be  cured.     I  will  bring  him  to  you,  Lambert  !  " 

"  Just  so,"  Lambert  kept  repeating,  fifling  up  my  glass  every 
minute. 

He  was  in  a  perfect  tremble  of  anxiety  to  avoid  contradicting^ 
or  offending  me  and  to  make  me  go  on  drinking.  It  was  so  coarse 
and  obvious  that  even  at  the  time  I  could  not  help  noticing  it. 
But  nothing  could  have  made  me  go  away  ;  I  kept  drinking  and 
talking,  and  was  desperately  anxious  to  give  full  expression  to 
what  I  was  feeling.  When  Lambert  brought  in  another  bottle, 
Alphonsine  was  playing  some  Spanish  air  on  the  guitar  ;  I  was 
almost  in  tears. 

"  Lambert,  do  you  know  everything  ?  "  I  exclaimed  with 
intense  feeling.  "  That  man  must  be  saved,  for  he's  spell-bound 
...  by  sorcery.  If  she  were  to  marry  him,  he  would  spurn 
her  from  him  the  day  after  the  wedding  .  .  .  for  that  does  happen 
sometimes.  For  such  a  wild  outrageous  love  is  like  a  fit,  like 
a  deadly  noose,  like  an  illness,  and — as  soon  as  it  is  gratified — 
the  scales  fall  from  the  eyes  at  once  and  the  opposite  feeling 
comes — loathing  and  hatred,  the  desire  to  strangle,  to  crush. 
Do  you  know  the  story  of  Avisage,  Lambert  ?  Have  you 
read  it  ? 

"  No,  I  don't  remember  :  a  novel  ?  "  muttered  Lambert. 

"  Oh,  you  know  nothing.  Lambert,  you're  fearfully,  fearfully 

516 


ignorant  .  .  .  but  I  don't  care  a  damn  for  that.  It's  no  matter. 
Oh,  he  loves  mother,  he  kissed  her  portrait ;  he'fl  spurn  that 
woman  next  morning  and  come  back  to  mother  of  himself  ;  but 
then  it  will  be  too  late,  so  we  must  save  him  now.  ..." 

In  the  end  I  began  crying  bitterly,  but  I  still  went  on  talking 
and  drank  a  fearful  quantity  of  champagne.  It  Avas  most  charac- 
teristic of  Lambert  that  all  that  evening  he  did  not  once  ask 
about  the  "  document  "  :  where  it  was,  that  I  should  show  it, 
should  put  it  on  the  table.  What  would  have  been  more  natural 
than  to  inquire  about  it,  since  we  were  planning  to  take  action  ? 
Another  point  :  we  kept  saying  that  we  must  do  "  this,"  that  we 
certainly  would  do  "  this,"  but  of  the  place,  the  time  and  manner 
— we  did  not  say  a  word  !  He  only  assented  to  all  I  said  and  kept 
looking  at  Alphonsine,  that  was  all  !  Of  course,  I  was  incapable 
of  reflecting  on  ti)at  at  the  time,  but  I  remember  it. 

I  ended  by  falling  asleep  on  his  sofa  without  undressing.  I 
slept  a  long  time  and  waked  up  very  late.  I  remember  that 
after  waking  I  lay  for  a  long  time  on  the  sofa,  as  it  were  petrified, 
trying  to  reflect  and  remember,  and  pretending  that  I  was  still 
asleep.  But  it  appeared  that  Lambert  was  not  in  the  room,  he 
had  gone  out.  It  was  past  nine  o'clock,  the  stove  had  been  heated 
and  was  crackling  exactly  as  it  had  done  when  I  found  myself 
the  first  time  at  Lambert's  after  that  night.  But  Alphonsine 
was  behind  the  screen  keeping  guard  on  me  ;  I  noticed  it  at  once, 
for  she  had  twice  peeped  out  and  glanced  at  me,  but  each  time 
I  shut  my  eyes  and  pretended  to  be  asleep.  I  did  this  because 
I  was  overwhelmed  and  wanted  to  think  over  my  position.  I 
felt  with  horror  all  the  ineptitude  and  loathsomeness  of  my 
confession  to  Lambert,  my  plotting  with  him,  the  blunder  I  had 
made  in  running  to  him  !  But,  thank  God,  the  letter  was  still 
in  my  keeping  ;  it  was  still  sewn  up  in  my  side  pocket  ;  I  felt 
with  my  hand — it  was  there  !  So  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  get  up 
and  run  away,  I  need  not  care  what  Lambert  thought  of  me 
afterwards.     Lambert  was  not  worth  it. 

But  I  was  ashamed  of  myself  !  I  was  my  own  judge,  and — 
my  God,  what  was  there  in  my  heart  !  But  there's  no  need  to 
describe  that  hellish,  insufferable  feeling,  and  that  consciousness 
of  filth  and  vileness.  But  yet  I  must  confess  it,  for  I  feel  the 
time  has  come.  It  must  be  recorded  in  my  story.  So  let  it  be 
known  that  I  meant  to  shame  her,  and  planned  to  be  almost 
a  \vitness  of  her  yielding  to  Lambert's  demands — oh,  the  base- 
ness ! — not  for  the  sake  of  saving  Versilov  in  his  madness  and 

517 


bringing  him  back  to  mother,  but  because  .  .  .  perhaps  because  I 
was  myself  in  love  and  jealous  !  Jealous  of  whom  :  of  Biiring, 
of  Versilov  ?  Of  anyone  she  might  look  at,  or  talk  to  at  a  ball, 
while  I  should  be  standing  in  a  comer  ashamed  of  myself.  .  .  , 
Oh,  the  hideousness  of  it ! 

In  short,  I  don't  know  of  whom  I  was  jealous  on  her  account ; 
but  all  I  felt  and  knew  the  evening  before  was  that  as  certainly 
as  twice  two  make  four,  she  was  lost  to  me,  that  that  woman 
would  spurn  me  and  laugh  at  me  for  falseness  and  absurdity  ! 
She  was  truthful  and  honest,  while  I — I  was  a  spy,  using  letters 
to  threaten  her  ! 

All  this  I  have  kept  hidden  in  my  heart  ever  since,  but  now  the 
day  has  come  and  I  make  up  ray  account,  but,  again,  for  the  last 
time.  Perhaps  fully  half,  or  perhaps  even  seventy- five  per  cent, 
of  what  I  am  saying  is  a  libel  upon  myself  !  That  night  I 
hated  her  in  a  kind  of  delirium,  and  afterwards  like-  a  drunken 
rowdy.  I  have  said  already  that  it  was  a  chaos  of  feelings  and 
sensations  in  which  I  could  distinguish  nothing  clearly  myself. 
But  still  I  have  had  to  confess  it,  for  though  only  a  part  of  what  I 
felt,  it  was  certainly  present. 

With  an  overpowering  sense  of  disgust,  and  a  firm  determina- 
tion to  cancel  all  that  had  happened,  I  suddenly  jumped  up 
from  the  sofa  ;  but  as  I  jumped  up,  Alphonsine  instantly  popped 
out.  I  seized  my  overcoat  and  cap  and  told  her  to  tell  Lambert 
that  I  had  been  raving  the  evening  before,  that  I  had  slandered 
a  woman,  that  I  had  been  joking,  and  that  Lambert  must  not 
dare  come  near  me  again.  .  .  .  All  this  I  expressed  in  a  blunder- 
ing fashion,  talking  hurriedly  in  French,  and,  of  course,  anything 
but  clearly,  but.  to  my  surprise,  Alphonsine  understood  everything 
perfectly  ;  and  what  was  most  surprising  of  all,  she  seemed  posi- 
tively relieved  at  something. 

"  Oui,  out,"  she  said  approvingly,  "  c'est  une  honte  !  Une 
dame.  .  .  .  Oh,  vous  etre  genereux,  vous  !  Soyez  tranquille,  je 
ferai  voir  raison  й  Lambert.  .  .  ." 

So  that  I  was  even  at  that  moment  puzzled  to  explain  the 
sudden  change  in  her  attitude,  and  consequently  I  suppose  in 
Lambert's.  I  went  away,  however,  saying  nothing  ;  all  was  in 
confusion  within  me,  and  I  was  hardly  capable  of  reasoning. 
On,  afterwards  I  could  explain  it  all,  but  then  it  was  too  late  ! 
Oh,  what  a  hellish  plot  it  was  !  I  will  pause  here  and  explain  it 
beforehand,  as  otherwise  it  will  b.^  impossible  for  the  reader  to 
understand  it. 

518 


The  fact  was  that  at  my  very  first  interview  with  Lambert, 
when  I  was  thawing  in  his  lodging,  I  had  muttered  to  him  like 
a  fool  that  the  letter  was  sewn  up  in  my  pocket ;  then  I  had 
suddenly  fallen  asleep  for  a  time  on  the  sofa  in  the  comer,  and 
Lambert  had  promptly  felt  my  pocket  and  was  convinced  that 
there  was  a  piece  of  paper  sewn  up  in  it.  Several  times  after- 
wards he  made  sure  that  the  paper  was  still  there  ;  when  we  were 
dining,  for  instance,  at  the  "  Tatar's,"  I  remember  that  he 
several  times  put  his  arms  round  my  waist  on  purpose.  Grasp- 
ing the  importance  of  the  letter  he  made  a  separate  plan  of  his 
own  of  which  I  had  no  suspicion  at  all.  I,  like  a  fool,  imagined 
all  the  time  that  he  urged  me  to  come  home  so  persistently  to 
get  me  to  join  his  gang  and  to  act  only  in  concert  with  him,  but, 
alas  !  he  invited  me  with  quite  a  different  object !  He  wanted 
to  make  me  dead  drunk,  and  when  I  was  stretched  snoring  and 
unconscious,  to  rip  open  my  pocket  and  take  possession  of  the 
letter.  This  was  precisely  what  he  and  Alphonsine  had  done 
that  night ;  Alphonsine  had  unpicked  the  pocket,  taking  out 
the  letter,  her  letter,  the  document  I  had  brought  from  Moscow, 
they  had  taken  a  piece  of  plain  note  paper  the  same  size,  put  it  in 
the  pocket  and  sewn  it  up  again,  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 
so  that  I  might  notice  no  difference.  Alphonsine  had  sewn  it  up. 
And  I,  up  to  the  very  end,  for  another  day  and  a  half — still 
went  on  believing  that  I  was  in  possession  of  the  secret,  and  that 
Katerina  Nikolaevena's  fate  was  still  in  my  hands. 

A  last  word  :  that  theft  of  the  letter  was  the  cause  of  every- 
thing and  of  all  the  other  disasters  that  followed. 


8 

The  last  twenty-four  hours  of  my  story  have  come  and  I  am  at 
the  end  ! 

It  was,  I  believe,  about  half-past  ten,  when  excited,  and,  as  far 
aa  I  remember,  strangely  absent-minded,  but  with  a  firm  deter- 
mination in  my  heart,  I  dragged  myself  to  my  lodgings.  I 
was  not  in  a  hurry,  I  knew  how  I  was  going  to  act.  And  scarcely 
had  I  stepped  into  the  passage  when  I  realised  at  once  that  a 
new  calamity  had  occurred,  and  an  extraordinary  complication 
had  arisen  :  the  old  prince  had  just  been  brought  from  Tsarskoe- 
Syelo  and  was  in  the  flat ;   with  him  was  Anna  Andreyevna  ! 

He  had  been  put  not  in  my  room  but  in  the  two  rooms  next  to 

519 


mine  that  had  been  occupied  by  my  landlord  and  his  wife.  The 
day  before,  as  it  appeared,  some  changes  and  improvements  had 
been  made  in  the  room,  but  only  of  the  most  superficial  kind. 
The  landlord  and  his  wife  had  moved  into  the  little  room  of  the 
whimsical  lodger  marked  with  small-pox  whom  I  have  mentioned 
already,  and  that  individual  had  been  temporarily  banished,  I 
don't  know  where. 

I  was  met  by  the  landlord,  who  at  once  whisked  into  my  room. 
He  looked  less  sure  of  his  ground  than  he  had  done  the  evening 
before,  but  was  in  an  unusual  state  of  excitement,  so  to  say, 
at  the  climax  of  the  affair.  I  said  nothing  to  him,  but,  moving 
aside  into  a  corner  and  clutching  my  head  in  my  hands,  I  stood 
so  for  a  moment.  He  thought  for  the  first  moment  that  I  was 
"  putting  it  on,"  but  at  last  his  fortitude  gave  way,  and  he  could 
not  help  being  scared. 

"  Can  anything  be  wrong  ?  "  he  muttered.  "  I've  been  wait- 
ing for  you  to  ask,"  he  added,  seeing  I  did  not  answer,  "  whether 
you  preferred  that  door  to  be  opened  so  that  you  may  have 
direct  access  to  the  prince's  rooms  .  .  .  instead  of  going  by 
the  passage  ?  "  He  pointed  to  the  door  at  the  side  always 
locked,  which  led  to  the  landlord's  rooms,  now  the  old  prince's 
apartments. 

"  Look  here,  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch,"  I  turned  to  him  with  a  stem 
air,  "  I  humbly  beg  you  to  go  to  Anna  Andre  ye  vna  and  ask  her 
to  come  here  at  once  to  discuss  the  situation.  Have  they  been 
here  long  ?  " 

"  Going  on  for  an  hour." 

"  Go  and  fetch  her  then." 

He  went  and  brought  the  strange  reply  "  that  Anna  Andrey- 
evna  and  Prince  Nikolay  Ivanitch  were  impatiently  expecting 
me  in  the  next  room  "  ;  so  Anna  .\ndreyevna  would  not  come. 
I  smoothed  out  my  coat,  which  was  creased  from  sleeping  in  it 
that  night,  brushed  it,  washed,  combed  my  hair  ;  I  did  all  this 
dehberately,  realising  how  necessary  it  was  to.  be  careful,  and  I 
went  in  to  the  old  prince. 

The  prince  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  at  a  round  table,  and  Anna 
Andreyevna  in  another  corner,  at  another  table  covered  with  a 
cloth,  on  which  the  landlady's  samovar,  polished  as  it  had  never 
been  before,  was  boiling  for  tea.  I  walked  in  with  the  same 
stem  look  on  my  face,  and  the  old  man  instantly  noticed  this 
and  winced,  and  the  smile  on  his  face  was  instantly  replaced  by  a 
look  of  terror ;  but  I  could  not  keep  it  up,  I  instantly  laughed 

520 


and  held  out  my  hands  to  him  ;   the  poor  old  fellow  simply  flung 
himself  into  my  arms. 

I  realised  unmistakably  at  once  the  condition  of  the  man  I 
had  to  deal  with.  To  begin  with,  it  was  as  clear  as  twice  two 
make  four  that  in  the  interval  since  I  had  seen  him  last  they  had 
turned  the  old  man,  till  lately  almost  hale,  and  to  some  extent 
rational,  and  not  altogether  without  will-power,  into  a  sort  of 
mummy,  a  scared  and  mistrustful  child.  I  may  add,  he  quite 
knew  why  they  had  brought  him  here,  and  everything  had  been 
done  as  I  have  explained  already.  He  was  suddenly  shocked, 
crushed,  and  overwhelmed  by  being  told  of  his  daughter's 
treachery  and  of  a  possible  madhouse.  He  had  allowed  himself 
to  be  carried  off,  so  scared  that  he  hardl.y  knew  what  he  was  doing ; 
he  was  told  that  I  was  in  possession  of  the  secret  and  that  I  had 
the  proof  that  would  establish  the  fact  conclusively.  I  may 
mention  at  once  :  it  was  just  that  proof  that  would  establish 
the  fact  which  he  dreaded  more  than  anything  in  the  world. 
He  was  expecting  me  to  go  in  to  him  with  a  sort  of  death  sentence 
in  my  face  and  a  document  in  my  hand,  and  was  inimensely 
delighted  that  I  was  ready  meanwhile  to  laugh  and  chatter  of 
other  thmgs.  While  we  were  embracing  he  shed  tears.  I  must 
confess  I  shed  a  tear  also ;  I  felt  suddenly  very  sorry  for  him. 
Alphonsine's  little  lap-dog  broke  into  a  bark  as  shrill  as  a  bell, 
and  made  dashes  at  me  from  the  sofa.  He  had  not  parted  from 
this  tiny  dog  since  he  had  had  it  and  even  slept  with  it. 

"  0Л  je  disais,  qu'il  a  du  cosur!"  he  exclaimed,  indicating 
me  to  Anna  Andreyevna. 

"  But  how  much  stronger  you  look,  prince,  how  well  and  fresh 
and  strong  you  look  !  "  I  observed.  Alas  !  It  was  just  the 
opposite  :  he  looked  like  a  mummy  and  I  only  said  it  to  cheer 
him  up  ! 

"  N'est-cepas,  u'est-cepas  ?  "  he  repeated  joyfully.  "  Oh,  I've 
regained  my  health  wonderfully." 

"  But  drink  your  tea,  and  if  you'U  give  me  a  cup  I'll  drink 
some  with  you." 

"That's  delightful !  'Let  us  drink  the  cup  that  cheers '  .  .  . 
or  how  does  it  go,  that's  in  some  poem.  Arma  Andreyevna,  give 
him  some  tea ;  il  prend  toujoura  par  les  sentiments.  .  .  .  Give 
us  some  tea,  my  dear." 

Anna  Andreyevna  poured  out  the  tea,  but  suddenly  turning  to 
me  began  with  extreme  solemnity  : 

"  Arkady    Makarovitch,    we    both,    my    benefactor,    Prince 

521 


Nikolay  Ivanitch  and  I,  have  taken  refuge  with  you.  I  consider 
that  we  have  come  to  you,  to  you  alone,  and  we  both  beg  of  you 
to  shelter  us.  Remember  that  the  whole  fate  of  this  saintly, 
this  noble  and  injured  man,  is  in  your  hands  ...  we  await  the 
decision,  and  count  upon  the  justice  of  your  heart  !  " 

But  she  could  not  go  on  ;  the  old  prince  was  reduced  to  terror 
and  almost  trembling  with  alarm. 

"  Apres,  apres,  n^est-ce  pas,  chere  amie,"  he  kept  repeating, 
holding  out  his  hands  to  her. 

I  cannot  express  how  disagreeably  her  outburst  impressed  me. 
I  made  no  response  but  a  chilly  and  dignified  bow  ;  then  I  sat 
down  to  the  table,  and  with  undisguised  intention  began  talking 
of  other  things,  of  various  trifles,  laughing  and  making  jokes.  .  .  . 
The  old  man  was  evidently  grateful  to  me  and  was  enthusiastically 
delighted ;  but  enthusiastic  as  his  gaiety  was,  it  was  evidently 
insincere  and  might  any  moment  have  been  followed  by  abso- 
lute dejection  :   that  was  clear  from  the  first  glance. 

"  Cher  enfant,  I  hear  you've  been  ill.  .  .  .  Ah,  pardon,  I  hear 
you've  been  busy  with  spiritualism  all  this  time." 

"  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  I  said  smiling. 

"  No  ?   who  was  it  told  me  about  spiritualism  ?  " 

"  It  was  your  landlord  here,  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch,"  Anna  Andrey- 
evna  explained,  "  he's  a  very  amusing  man  and  knows  a  great 
many  anecdotes  ;  shall  I  ask  him  in  ?  " 

"Out,  out,  il  est  charmant  .  .  .  he  knows  anecdotes,  but  better 
send  for  him  later.  We'll  send  for  him  and  he'll  tell  us  stories, 
mais  apres.  Only  fancy,  they  were  laying  the  table  just  now 
and  he  said :  '  Don't  be  uneasy,  it  won't  fly  about,  we  are  not 
spiritualists.'  Is  it  possible  that  the  tables  fly  about  among  the 
spiritualists  ?  " 

"  I  really  don't  know,  they  say  so,  they  say  they  jump  right 
off  the  ground." 

"  Mais  c'est  terrible  ce  que  tu  dis,"  he  looked  at  me  in  alarm. 

"Oh,  don't  be  uneasy,  of  course  that's  nonsense." 

"  That's  what  I  say  too.  Nastasya  Stepanovna  Salomeyev  .  .  . 
you  know  her,  of  course  ...  oh  no,  you  don't  know  her  .  . 
would  you  believe  it  she  believes  in  spiritualism,  too ;  and  only 
fancy,  chere  enfant,"  he  turned  to  Anna  Andreyevna,  "  I  said 
to  her,  there  are  tables  in  the  Ministry  of  Finance  and  eight 
pairs  of  clerks'  hands  are  lying  on  them,  writing  all  the  while, 
so  why  is  it  the  tables  don't  dance  there  ?  Fancy  if  they  sud- 
denly all   began  dancing  !       The  revolt  of  the  tables  in  the 

522 


Ministry  of  Finance  or  popular  education — that's  the  laet 
straw." 

"  What  charming  things  you  say,  prince,  just  as  you  always 
did,"  I  exclaimed,  trying  to  laugh  as  genuinely  as  possible. 

"  N'est-ce  pas  ?    Je  ne  parle  ров  trop,  mats  je  dis  bien." 

"  I  will  bring  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch,"  Anna  Andreyevna  said, 
getting  up.  There  was  a  gleam  of  pleasure  in  her  face  :  she  was 
relieved  at  seeing  how  affectionate  I  was  with  the  old  prince. 
But  she  had  hardly  gone  out  when  the  old  man's  face  changed 
instantly.  He  looked  hurriedly  at  the  door,  glanced  about  him, 
and  stooping  towards  me  from  the  sofa,  whispered  to  me  in  a 
fiightened  voice  : 

"  Cher  ami  !  Oh,  if  I  could  see  them  both  here  together  ! 
Oh,  cher  enfant  f  " 

"  Prince,  don't  distress  yourself,  ,  .  ." 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  .  .  .  we'll  reconcile  them^  n'est-ce  pas  ?  It's 
a  foolish  petty  quarrel  between  two  most  estimable  women, 
n'est-ce  pas  ?  You  are  my  only  hope.  .  .  .  We'll  set  everything 
straight  here  ;  and  what  a  queer  place  this  is,"  he  looked  about 
him  almost  fearfully  ;  "  and  that  landlord,  you  know  .  .  .  he's 
got  such  a  face.  ,  .  .  Tell  me  !     He's  not  dangerous  ?  " 

"  The  landlord  ?     Oh  no,  how  could  he  be  dangerous  ?  " 

"  C'est  Qa.  So  much  the  better.  //  semble  qu'il  est  bete,  ce 
gentilhomme.  Cher  enfant,  for  Christ's  sake  don't  tell  Anna 
Andreyevna  that  I'm  afraid  of  everything  here  ;  I  praised  eyery- 
thing  from  the  first  moment,  I  praised  the  landlord  too.  Listen, 
do  you  know  the  story  of  what  happened  to  Von  Sohn — do 
you  remember  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?  " 

"  Rien,  Hen  de  tout.  .  .  .  Mais  je  suis  libre  ici,  n'est-ce  pas  ? 
What  do  you  think,  nothing  could  happen  to  me  here  ...  of 
the  same  sort  ?  " 

"  But  I  assure  you,  dear  prince  .  ,  .  upon  my  word  !  " 

"  Mon  ami,  топ  enfant!"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  clasping 
his  hands  before  him,  not  seeking  to  disguise  his  alarm  :  "if 
you  really  have  something  .  .  .  some  document  ...  in  fact — 
if  you  have  something  to  say  to  me,  don't  say  it ;  for  God's  sake 
don't  say  anything  at  all  .  .  .  put  it  off  as  long  as  you  can,  ,  .  ." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  throwing  himself  in  my  arms  ;  tears 
were  flowing  down  his  face  ;  I  cannot  describe  how  it  made  my 
heart  ache  ;  the  poor  old  man  was  like  a  pitiful  frightened  child 
stolen  from  his  home  by  gypsies  and  carried  awa}'  to  live  with 

523 


strangers,  but  we  were  not  allowed  to  embrace.  The  door  opened 
and  Anna  Andreyevna  walked  in,  not  with  the  landlord,  but 
with  her  brother,  the  kammer- junker.  This  new  surprise 
petrified  me.     I  got  up  and  was  making  for  the  deor. 

"  Arkady  Makarovitch,  allow  me  to  introduce  you,"  Aima 
Andreyevna  said  aloud,  so  that  I  was  compelled  to  stop. 

"  I  know  your  brother  too  well  already,"  I  rapped  out,  laying 
special  emphasis  on  the  word  "too." 

"  Ah,  that  was  a  terrible  blunder  !  And  I'm  so  sor-r-ry, 
dear,  and  .  .  .  Audrey  Makarovitch,"  the  young  man  began 
lisping,  coming  up  to  me  with  an  extraordinarily  free-and-easy 
air  and  seizing  my  hand,  which  I  was  incapable  of  withdraw- 
ing, "  it  was  all  the  fault  of  my  Stepan  ;  he  announced  you  so 
stupidly  that  I  mistook  you  for  some  one  else  :  that  was  in 
Moscow,"  he  explained  to  his  sister  :  "  afterwards,  I  did  every- 
thing I  could  to  look  you  up  and  explain,  but  I  was  ill,  ask 
her.  Cher  prince,  nous  dcvons  etre  amis  пьете  'par  droit  de 
naissance.  .  .  ." 

And  the  impudent  young  man  had  the  effrontery  to  put  his 
arm  round  my  shoulder,  which  was  the  height  of  familiarity. 
I  drew  back,  but  overcome  by  embarrassment  preferred  to  beat 
a  hasty  retreat,  without  saying  a  word.  Going  back  to  my  room 
I  sat  down  on  my  bed  in  uncertainty  and  agitation.  I  felt 
suffocated  by  the  atmosphere  of  intrigue,  but  I  could  not  deal 
Anna  Andreyevna  such  a  direct  and  crushing  blow.  I  suddenly 
felt  that  she,  too,  was  dear  to  me,  and  that  her  position  was  an 
awful  one. 


As  I  had  expected,  she  came  into  my  room  herself,  leaving 
the  prince  with  her  brother,  who  immediately  began  telling 
him  some  society  scandal,  as  fresh  as  hot  cakes,  which  at  once 
distracted  the  impressionable  old  man's  attention  and  cheered 
him  up.    I  got  up  from  the  bed  in  silence,  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  I  have  told  you  everything,  Arkady  Makarovitch,"  she  began 
directly,  "  our  fate  is  in  your  hands." 

"  But  I  told  you  beforehand  that  I  cannot  .  .  .  the  most 
sacred  duties  prevent  me  doing  what  you  desire.  ..." 

"  Yes  ?  Is  that  your  answer  ?  Well,  let  me  perish,  but  what 
of  the  old  prince  ?  What  do  you  expect  ?  Why,  he'll  be  out  of 
his  mind  by  the  evening  !  " 

524 


"  No,  he'll  go  out  of  his  mind  if  I  show  him  the  letter  in  which 
his  daughter  writes  to  a  lawyer  about  certifying  him  insane  !  " 
I  cried  with  heat.  "That's  what  would  be  too  much  for  him. 
Do  you  know  he  won't  believe  that  letter,  he's  told  me  so 
already ! " 

I  lied,  saying  he  had  said  this  of  the  letter  ;  but  it  was  effective. 

"  He  has  said  so  already  ?  I  thought  so  !  In  that  case  I'm 
lost.     He's  been  crying  already  and  asking  to  go  home." 

"  Tell  me,  what's  your  plan  exactly  ?  "  I  asked  insistently. 
She  flushed  from  exasperated  haughtiness,  so  to  speak,  but  she 
controlled  herself  : 

"  With  that  letter  of  his  daughter's  in  our  hands,  we  are 
justified  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  I  should  send  it  at  once  to 
Prince  V.and  to  Boris  Mihalovitch  Pelistchev,  the  friends  of  his 
childhood  ;  both  persons  highly  respected  and  influential  in 
society,  and  I  know  that  some  years  ago  they  were  indignant  with 
the  conduct  of  his  greedy  and  merciless  daughter.  They  will  of 
course  reconcile  him  with  his  daughter  at  my  request.  I 
shall  insist  on  it  myself  ;  but  the  position  of  affairs  will  be 
completely  changed.  And  my  relations,  too,  the  Fanariotovs, 
will,  I  judge,  make  up  their  minds  to  support  my  rights  ;  but 
what  weighs  most  with  me  is  his  happiness  :  I  want  him  to 
understand  and  appreciate  who  is  really  devoted  to  him.  Of 
course  I've  always  reckoned  most  on  your  influence  with  him, 
Arkady  INIakarovitch  ;  you  are  so  fond  of  him.  .  .  .  And  who 
does  care  for  him  except  you  and  me  ?  He  has  done  nothing 
but  talk  about  you  these  last  few  days  ;  he  was  pining  for  you 
'  his  young  friend.  .  .  .'  I  need  not  say  that  for  the  rest  of 
my  life  my  gratitude  will  be  immeasured.  .  .  ." 

She  was  actually  promising  me  a  reward — money  perhaps. 

I  interrupted  her  sharply. 

"  Whatever  you  say  I  cannot,"  I  brought  out  with  an  air  of 
immovable  determination.  "  I  can  only  repay  you  with  equal 
frankness  and  explain  my  final  decision  :  I  shall,  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment,  put  this  fatal  letter  into  Katerina  Nikolaevna's 
hands,  but  only  on  condition  that  all  that  has  happened  shall 
not  be  made  a  scandal,  and  that  she  gives  me  her  word  before- 
hand that  she  will  not  interfere  with  your  happiness ;  that's  all 
that  I  can  do." 

"  That's  impossible  !  "  she  said,  flushing  all  over.  The  mere 
idea  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  would  spare  her  roused  her  to 
indignation. 

525 


"  I  shall  not  change,  Anna  Andreyevna.'' 

"  Perhaps  you  will  change." 

"  You  had  better  apply  to  Lambert !  " 

"  Arkady  Makarovitch,  you  don't  know  what  misery  may 
come  from  your  obstinacy,"  she  said  with  grim  exasperation. 

"  Misery  will  follow,  that's  true  .  .  .  my  head  is  going  roimd. 
I've  had  enough  of  you  :  I've  made  up  my  mind — and  that's 
the  end  of  it.  Only  I  beg  you  for  God's  sake  don't  bring  your 
brother  in  to  me." 

"  But  he  is  very  anxious  to  make  up  for  .  .  ." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  make  up  for  !  I  don't  want  it,  I  don't 
wish  for  it,  I  don't  wish  for  it ! "  I  exclaimed,  clutching  my 
head.  (Oh,  perhaps  I  treated  her  too  disdainfully  then.)  "Tell 
me,  though,  where  will  the  prince  sleep  to-night  ?  Surely  not 
here  ?  " 

"  He  will  stay  the  night  here  in  your  flat,  and  with  you." 

"  I  am  moving  into  another  lodging  this  evening." 

And  uttering  these  ruthless  words  I  seized  my  cap  and 
began  putting  on  my  great-coat.  Anna  Andreye^^la  watched 
me  in  sullen  silence.  I  felt  sorry  for  her — oh,  I  felt  sorry  for 
that  proud  girl !  But  I  rushed  out  of  the  flat,  without  leaving 
her  one  word  of  hope. 


I  will  try  to  be  brief.  My  decision  was  taken  beyond  recall, 
and  I  went  straight  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  Alas  !  A  great 
calamity  might  have  been  averted  if  I  had  only  found  her  at 
home  ;  but  as  though  of  design,  I  was  pursued  by  ill-luck  all 
that  day.  I  went  of  course  to  my  mother's,  in  the  first  place 
to  see  her,  and  secondly,  because  I  reckoned  certainly  on  meeting 
Tatyana  Pavlovna  there.  But  she  was  not  there  either  ;  she 
had  only  just  gone  away,  while  mother  was  lying  down  ill,  and 
Liza  was  left  alone  with  her.  Liza  begged  me  not  to  go  in,  and 
not  to  wake  mother :  "  She  has  not  slept  all  night,  she's  so 
worried ;  thank  God  she  has  fallen  asleep  at  last."  I  embraced 
Liza  and  said  two  or  three  words  to  her,  telling  her  I  had  made 
an  immense  and  momentous  resolution,  and  should  carry  it  out 
at  once.  She  listened  without  particular  surprise,  as  though  to 
the  usual  thing.  Oh,  they  had  all  grown  used  by  then  to  my 
constantly  repeated  '  final  resolutions,'  and  the  feeble  cancelling 
of  them  afterwards.     But  this  time,  this  time  it  would  be  a 

526 


different  matter.  I  went  to  the  eating-house  on  the  canal  side 
and  sat  down  there  to  wait  awhile  in  the  certainty  of  finding 
Tatyana  Pavlovna  afterwards.  I  must  explain,  though,  why 
I  found  it  so  necessary  to  see  that  lady.  The  fact  is  that  I 
wanted  to  send  her  at  once  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  to  ask  her 
to  come  back  with  her,  meaning  in  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  presence 
to  return  the  letter,  explaining  everything  once  for  all.  In 
short,  I  wanted  nothing  but  what  was  fitting ;  I  wanted  to  put 
myself  right  once  and  for  all.  At  the  same  time  I  was  quite 
determined  to  put  in  a  few  words  on  behalf  of  Anna  Andreyevna 
and,  if  possible,  to  take  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  together  with 
Tatyana  Pavlovna  (by  way  of  a  witness),  back  with  me  to  see 
the  prince,  there  to  reconcile  the  hostile  ladies,  to  bring  the  old 
prince  back  to  life  and  .  .  .  and  ...  in  fact,  in  that  little 
group  anjrway,  to  make  every  one  happy  on  the  spot,  that  very 
day,  so  that  there  would  be  none  left  unhappy  but  Versilov  and 
mother.  I  could  have  no  doubt  of  my  success.  From  gratitude 
for  my  restoration  of  the  letter  from  which  I  should  ask  nothing 
of  her  in  return,  Katerina  Nikolaevna  would  not  have  refused 
me  such  a  request.  Alas  !  I  still  imagined  I  was  in  possession 
of  the  document.  Oh,  what  a  stupid  and  ignominious  position 
I  was  in,  though  without  suspecting  it ! 

It  was  getting  quite  dark,  about  four  o'clock,  when  I  called  at 
Tatyana  Pavlovna's  again.  Marya  aaiswered  gruffly  that  she 
had  not  come  in.  I  remember  very  well  now  the  strange  look 
Marya  gave  me  from  imder  her  brows  ;  but  of  courss  it  did  not 
strike  me  at  the  time.  I  was  suddenly  stung  by  another  idea. 
As  I  went  down  the  stairs,  from  Tatyana  Pavlovna's,  vexed  and 
somewhat  dejected,  I  thought  of  the  poor  old  prince,  who  had 
held  out  his  hands  to  me  that  morning,  and  I  suddenly  reproached 
myself  bitterly  for  having  deserted  him,  perhaps  indeed  from 
feeling  personally  aggrieved. 

I  began  uneasily  imagining  that  something  really  very  bad 
might  have  happened  in  my  absence,  and  hurriedly  went  home. 
At  home,  however,  all  that  had  been  happening  was  this. 

When  Anna  Andreyevna  had  gone  out  of  my  room  in  a  rage, 
that  morning,  she  had  not  yet  lost  heart ;  I  must  mention  that 
she  had  already,  that  morning,  sent  to  Lambert,  then  she  sent 
to  him  again,  and  as  Lambert  appeared  to  be  still  absent 
from  home,  she  finally  dispatched  her  brother  to  look  for  him. 
In  face  of  my  opposition  the  poor  i:irl  was  resting  her  last  hopes 
on  Lambert  and  his  influence  on  me  ;  she  expected  him  with 

527 


impatience,  and  only  wondered  that  after  hovering  round  her 
and  never  leaving  her  side  till  that  day,  he  should  now  have 
suddenly  deserted  her  and  vanished.  Alas  !  she  could  not 
possibly  have  imagined  that  Lambert,  being  now  in  possession 
of  the  document,  had  made  entirely  diflFerent  plans,  and  so,  of 
course,  was  keeping  out  of  the  way  and  hiding  from  her  on 
purpose. 

And    so    in     her    anxiety    and    growing    uneasiness    Anna 
Andreyevna  was  scarcely  capable  of  entertaining  the  old  man  : 
his  uneasiness  was  growing  to  threatening  proportions,  he  kept 
asking  strange  and  timorous  questions,  he  began  looking  sus- 
piciously at  her,   and  several  times  fell  to  weeping.     Young 
Versilov  did  not  stay  long.     After  he  had  gone  Anna  Andreyevna 
was  reduced  to  bringing  in  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch,  on  whom  she 
was  relying,  but  he  did  not  please  the  old  prince  at  all,  and  even 
aroused  his  aversion.     In  fact  the  old  prince,  for  some  reason, 
regarded    Pyotr    Ippolitovitch    with    increasing    distrust    and 
suspicion.     As  ill-luck  would  have  it,   the  landlord  launched 
again  into  a  disquisition  on  spiritualism,  and  H escribed  all  sorts 
of  tricks  which  he  said  he  had  seen  himself  at  seances.     He 
declared  that  one  medium  had,  before  the  whole  audience,  cut 
off  people's  heads,  so  that  blood  flowed,  and  every  one  saw  it, 
and  afterwards  put  them  back  on  their  necks,  and  that  they  grew 
on  again,  also  in  the  sight  of  the  whole  audience,  and  all  this 
happened  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-nine.     The 
old  prince  was  so  frightened,  and  at  the  same  time  for  some 
reason  was  so  indignant,  that  Anna  Andreyevna  was  obliged 
to  get  rid  of  the  story-teller  promptly ;    fortunately,   dinner 
arrived,  ordered   expressly  the  evening  before  from  somewhere 
near    (through   Lambert   and   Alphonsine)   from  a  remarkable 
French  cook  who  was  out  of    a  place,  and  wanted  to  find  a 
situation  in  a  nobleman's  family  or  a  club.     The  dinner  and  the 
champagne  that  accompanied  it  greatly  cheered  the  old  prince  ; 
he  ate  a  great  deal  and  was  very  jocose.     After  dinner  he  felt 
heavy  and  drowsy,  of  course,  and  as  he  always  took  a  nap  after 
dinner,  Anna  Andreyevna  made  up  a  bed  for  him.     He  kept 
kissing  her  hand  as  he  fell  asleep  and  declaring  that  she  was  his 
paradise,  his  hope,  his  houri,  "  his  golden  flower  " — in  fact  he 
dropped  into  the  most  Oriental  expressions.     At  last  he  fell 
asleep,  and  it  was  just  then  I  came  back. 

Anna  Andreyevna  came  in  to  me  hurriedly,  clasped  her  hands 
before  me    and  said,  that  not  for  her  own  sake,  but  for  t'^e 

528 


prince's  she  besought  me  not  to  go  away,  but  to  go  in  to  him 
as  soon  as  he  waked  up.  "  He  will  be  lost  without  you,  he  will 
have  a  nervous  attack  ;  I'm  afraid  he  may  break  down  before 
night.  .  .  ."  She  added  that  she  herself  would  be  compelled 
to  be  away  "  possibly  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  so  she  would 
be  leaving  the  prince  in  my  sole  charge."  I  promised  her 
warmly  that  I  would  remain  till  the  evening,  and  that  when 
the  prince  waked  up  I  would  do  my  very  best  to  entertain  him. 

"  And  I  will  do  my  duty !  "  she  declared  with  energy. 

She  went  out.  I  may  add,  anticipating  events,  that  she  went 
out  to  look  for  Lambert  herself  ;  this  was  her  last  hope  ;  she  also 
went  to  her  brother's,  and  to  her  relations,  the  Fanariotovs'  ; 
it  may  well  be  understood  what  her  state  of  mind  must  have 
been  when  she  ret  timed. 

The  old  prince  waked  up  about  an  hour  after  her  departure. 
I  heard  him  groan  through  the  wall,  and  at  once  ran  in  to  him  ; 
I  found  him  sitting  on  the  bed  in  his  dressing-gown,  but  so 
terrified  by  his  isolation,  the  light  of  the  solitary  lamp,  aud  the 
strange  room,  that  when  I  went  in  he  started,  jumped  up  and 
screamed.  I  flew  up  to  him,  and  when  he  recognised  me,  he 
began  embracing  me  with  tears  of  joy. 

"  I  was  told  that  you  had  moved  into  another  lodging,  that 
you  had  taken  fright,  and  run  away." 

"  Who  can  have  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  Who  could  ?  You  see  I  may  have  imagined  it  myself,  or 
some  one  may  have  told  me.  Only  fancy,  I've  just  had  a  dream  : 
an  old  man  with  a  beard  came  in  carrying  an  ikon,  an  ikon 
broken  in  two,  and  all  at  once  he  said,  '  So  shall  your  life  be 
broken  in  two  !  '  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  You  must  have  heard  from  some  one  that 
Versilov  broke  an  ikon  in  two  yesterday  ?  " 

"  N'est-ce  раз  ?  I  heard  so,  I  heard  so !  I  heard  from 
Darya  Onisimovna  yesterday  morning.  She  brought  my 
trunk  here  and  the  dog." 

"  And  so  you  dreamed  of  it." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  and  that  old  man  kept  shaking  his  finger 
at  me.     Where  is  Anna  Andreyevna  ?  " 

"  She'll  be  back  directly." 

"  Where  from  ?  Has  she  gone  away,  too  ?  "  he  exclaimed 
piteously. 

"  No,  no,  she'll  be  here  directly,  and  she  asked  me  to  stay 
with  you." 

529 


"  Out.  And  so  our  Andrey  Petrovitch  has  gone  off  his  head, 
'  so  rapidly  and  unerpectedly ! '  I  always  predicted  that 
that's  how  he'd  end.     Stay,  my  dear,  .  .  ." 

He  suddenly  clutched  me  by  my  coat,  and  drew  me  towards 
him. 

"  The  landlord,"  he  whispered  :  "  brought  in  some  photographs 
just  now,  horrid  photographs  of  women,  naked  women  in  various 
oriental  poses,  and  began  showing  them  me  in  a  glass.  ...  I 
admired  them  of  course,  though  I  did  not  hke  them,  but  you 
know  that's  just  as  they  brought  horrid  women  to  that  poor 
fellow,  so  as  to  make  him  drimk  more  easily.  .  .  ." 

"  Why,  you  are  talking  of  Von  Sohn,  but  that's  enough,  prince  ! 
The  landlord's  a  fool  and  nothing  more  !  " 

"  A  fool  and  nothing  more  !  С  est  топ  opinion  !  My  dear, 
rescue  me  from  here  if  you  can  !  "  He  suddenly  clasped  his  hands 
before  me. 

"  Prince,  I  will  do  everything  I  can  !  I  am  entirely  at  your 
service.  .  .  .  Dear  prince,  wait  a  little  and  perhaps  I  will  put 
everything  right !  " 

"  N'est-ce  pas  ?  We'll  cut  and  run  and  we'll  leave  my  trunk 
here  to  look  aa  though  we  are  coming  back." 

"  Where  should  we  ггт  to  !     And  what  of  Anna  Andreyevna? " 

"  No,  no,  we'll  go  with  Anna  Andreyevna.  .  .  .  Oh,  топ  cher, 
there's  a  regular  muddle  in  my  head.  .  .  .  Stay  :  there  in  my 
bag  on  the  right,  is  Katya's  portrait.  I  slipped  it  in  on  the 
sly  so  that  Anna  Andreyevna,  and  still  more,  that  Darya 
Onisimovna  should  not  notice  it ;  take  it  out,  for  goodness'  sake 
make  haste,  be  careful,  mind  we  are  not  caught.  .  .  .  Couldn't 
you  fasten  the  door  with  the  hook  ?  " 

I  did  in  fact,  find  in  the  bag  a  photograph  of  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  in  an  oval  frame.  He  took  it  in  his  hands,  carried 
it  to  the  light,  and  tears  suddenly  flowed  down  his  thin  yellow 
cheeks. 

"  G^est  un  ange,  c'est  un  ange  du  del  !  "  he  exclaimed  :  "  I 
never  have  been  as  good  to  her  as  I  ought  .  .  .  and  see  what's 
happened  now  !  Cher  enfant,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  not 
a  word  of  it !  My  dear,  tell  me  :  can  you  imagine,  they  are 
wanting  to  put  me  in  a  madhouse  ?  Je  die  des  chosea  charmantes 
et  tout  le  monde  fit  .  .  .  and  all  of  a  sudden  they  take  a  man 
like  that  to  a  madhouse  !  " 

"  That's  never  happened  I  "  I  cried,  "  that's  a  mistake.  I 
know  her  feelings." 


"  You  know  her  feelings,  too  ?  That's  splendid  1  My  dear, 
you've  given  me  new  life.  How  could  they  say  things  against 
you !  My  dear,  fetch  Katya  here,  and  let  them  kiss  each  other 
before  me,  and  I  will  take  them  home,  and  we'll  get  rid  of  the 
landlord  !  " 

Ho  stood  up,  clasped  his  hands,  and  fell  on  his  knees  before 
me. 

"  Cher"  he  whispered,  shaking  like  a  leaf  in  a  sort  of  insane 
terror  :  "  My  dear,  tell  me  the  whole  truth  :  where  will  they 
put  me  now  ?  " 

"  My  God !  "  I  cried,  raising  him  up,  and  making  him  sit  on 
the  bed  :  "  why  you  don't  believe  in  me  at  last ;  do  you  think 
that  I'm  in  the  plot  too  ?  I  won't  let  anyone  lay  a  finger  on 
you  !  " 

"  C'est-^,  don't  let  them,"  he  faltered,  clutching  me  tightly 
by  the  elbow  with  both  hands,  and  still  trembling.  "  Don't  let 
anyone  touch  me  !  And  don't  tell  me  lies  yourself  about  anything 
...  for  will  they  take  me  away  from  here  ?  Listen,  that 
landlord,  Ippolit  or  whatever  his  name  is  .  .  .  isn't  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  A  doctor  ?  " 

"  This  .  .  .  this  isn't  a  madhouse,  here,  in  this  room  1  " 

But  at  that  instant  the  door  opened,  and  Anna  Andreyeyna 
came  in.  She  must  have  been  listening  at  the  door,  and,  could 
not  resist  opening  the  door  too  suddenly — and  the  prince,  who 
started  at  every  creak,  shrieked,  and  flung  himself  on  his  face 
on  the  pillow.  Finally  he  had  something  like  a  fit,  which  ended 
in  sobs. 

"  See  ?  This  is  your  doing,"  I  said  to  her,  pointing  to  the 
old  man. 

"  No,  it's  your  doing  !  *'  she  raised  her  voice  harshly,  "  I 
appeal  to  you  for  the  last  time,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  will  you 
unmask  the  diaboUcal  intrigue  against  i-his  defenceless  old  man, 
and  sacrifice  '  your  mad  and  childish  dreams  of  love,'  to  save 
yoxur  огип  sister  ?  " 

"  I  will  save  you  all,  but  only  in  the  way  I  told  you  this 
morning  !  I  am  running  off  again,  and  perhaps  in  an  Ьош* 
Katerina  Nikolaevna  will  be  here  herself  !  I  will  reconcile  you 
all,  and  you  will  all  be  happy  !  "  I  exclaimed  almost  with 
inspiration. 

"  Fetch  her,  fetch  her  here,"  cried  the  prince  in  a  flutter. 
"  Take  me  to  her  !  I  want  to  see  Katya  and  to  bless  her,"  he 
exclaimed,  lifting  up  his  hands  and  springing  off  the  bed. 

531 


"  You  see,"  I  said  to  Anna  Andreyevna,  motioning  towards 
him  :  "  you  hear  what  he  says  :  now  at  all  events  no  '  document ' 
will  be  any  help  to  you." 

"  I  see,  but  it  might  help  to  justify  my  conduct  in  the  opinion 
of  the  world,  as  it  is,  I'm  disgraced  !  Enough,  my  conscience 
is  clear.  I  am  abandoned  by  everyone,  even  by  my  own 
brother,  who  has  taken  fright  at  my  failure.  .  .  .  But  I  will  do 
my  duty  and  will  remain  by  this  unhappy  man,  to  take  care  of 
him  and  be  his  nurse  !  " 

But  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  I  ran  out  of  the  room  :  "  I 
shall  come  back  in  an  hour,  and  shall  not  come  back  alone," 
I  cried  from  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER  XII 

1 

At  last  I  found  Tatyana  Pavlovna  at  home  !  I  at  once  ex- 
plained everything  to  her — all  about  the  "  document,"  and 
every  detail  of  what  was  going  on  at  my  lodgings.  Though  she 
quite  imderstood  the  position,  and  might  have  fully  grasped 
what  was  happening  in  two  words,  yet  the  explanation  took  us, 
1  believe,  some  ten  minutes.  I  did  the  talking,  I  put  aside  all 
shame  and  told  her  the  whole  truth.  She  sat  in  her  chair  silent 
and  immovable,  drawing  herself  up  straight  as  a  knitting  needle, 
with  her  lips  compressed,  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  me.  Listening 
greedily.  But  when  I  finished  she  promptly  jumped  up  from 
her  chair,  and  with  such  impetuosity  that  I  jumped  up  too. 

"  Ach,  you  puppy  !  So  you  really  had  that  letter  sewn  up  in 
your  pocket  and  it  was  sewn  up  there  by  that  fool  Mary  a 
Ivanovna  !  Oh,  you  shameless  villains  !  So  you  came  here 
to  conquer  hearts  and  take  the  fashionable  world  by  storm. 
You  wanted  to  revenge  yourself  on  the  devil  knows  who, 
because  you're  an  illegitimate  son,  eh  ?  " 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  don't  dare  to  abuse  me  !  "  I  cried. 
"  Perhaps  you  in  your  abuse  have  been  the  cause  from  the  very 
beginning  of  my  vindictiveness  here.  Yes,  I  am  an  illegitimate 
son,  and  perhaps  I  worked  to  revenge  myself  for  being  an 
illegitimate  son,  and  perhaps  I  did  want  tojevenge  myself  on  the 
devil  knows  who,  the  devil  himself  could  scarcely  find  who 
is  gmlty ;  but  remember,  I've  cut  oflE  all  connection  with  these 

532 


villains,  and  have  conquered  my  passions.  I  will  lay  the 
document  before  her  in  silence  and  will  go  away  without 
even  waiting  for  a  word  from  her ;  you'll  be  the  witness 
of  it !  " 

"  Give  me  the  letter,  give  me  the  letter,  lay  it  on  the  table  at 
once  ;  but  you  are  lying,  perhaps." 

"  It's  sewn  up  in  my  pocket.  Marya  Ivanovna  sewed  it  up 
herself  ;  and  when  I  had  a  new  coat  made  here  I  took  it  out  of 
the  old  one  and  sewed  it  up  in  the  new  coat ;  here  it  is,  feel  it, 
I'm  not  lying  !  " 

"  Give  it  me,  take  it  out,"  Tatyana  Pavlovna  stormed. 

"  Not  on  any  account,  I  tell  you  again  ;  I  will  lay  it  before 
her  in  your  presence  and  will  go  away  without  waiting  for  a 
single  word  ;  but  she  must  know  and  see  with  her  eyes  that  it  is 
my  doing,  that  I'm  giving  it  up  to  her  of  my  own  accord,  without 
compulsion  and  without  recompense." 

"  Showing  off  again  ?     You're  in  love,  puppy,  eh  ?  " 

"  You  may  say  horrid  things  to  me  as  much  as  you  like,  I've 
deserved  them,  but  I'm  not  offended.  Oh,  I  may  seem  to  her  a 
paltry  boy  who  has  been  keeping  watch  on  her  and  plotting 
against  her  ;  but  let  her  recognise  that  I  have  conquered  myself 
and  put  her  happiness  above  everything  on  earth  !  Never  mind, 
Tatyana  Pavlovna,  never  mind  !  I  keep  crying  to  myself : 
courage  and  hope  !  What  if  this  is  my  first  step  in  life,  anyway 
it  is  ending  well,  it  is  ending  honourably  !  Aiid  what  if  I  do 
love  her,"  I  went  on  fervently  with  flashing  eyes  ;  "I  am  not 
ashamed  of  it :  mother  is  a  heavenly  angel,  but  she  is  an  earthly 
queen  !  Versilov  will  go  back  to  mother,  and  I've  no  cause 
to  be  ashamed  to  face  her  ;  you  know  I  once  heard  what 
Versilov  and  she  were  saying,  I  stood  behind  the  curtain.  .  .  . 
Oh,  we  are  all  three  possessed  by  the  same  madness.  Oh, 
do  you  know  whose  phrase  that  is  '  possessed  by  the  same 
madness  '  1  They  are  his  words,  Andrey  Petrovitch's  !  But  do 
you  know,  perhaps  there  are  more  than  three  of  ua  possessed  by 
the  same  madness  ?  Yes,  I  don't  mind  betting,  you're  a  fourth 
— possessed  by  the  same  madness  !  Shall  I  say  it — I  will  bet 
that  you've  been  in  love  with  Andrey  Petrovitch  all  your  life  and 
perhaps  you  are  so  still  ..." 

I  repeat  I  was  carried  away  by  excitement  and  a  sort  of 
happiness,  but  I  could  not  finish  ;  she  suddenly,  with  super- 
human quickness,  seized  me  by  the  hair  and  twice  shook  me 
backwards  and  forwards   with   all   her  might.  .  .  .  Then   she 

533 


suddenly  abandoned  me  and  retreated  into  the  comer,  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  handkerchief. 

"  You  young  puppy  !  Never  dare  say  that  to  me  again  !  " 
she  brought  out,  crying. 

All  this  was  so  un.expected,  that  I  was  naturally  thunder- 
struck.    I  stood  gazing  at  her,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

"  Foo,  you  stupid  !  Come  here  and  give  me  a  kiss,  though 
I  am  an  old  fool !  "  she  said  suddenly,  laughing  and  crying  : 
"  and  don't  you  dare,  don't  you  ever  dare  to  say  that  to  me 
again  .  .  .  but  I  love  you  and  have  always  loved  you  .  .  .  you 
stupid." 

I  kissed  her.  I  may  mention  in  parenthesis  that  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  and  I  were  friends  from  that  time  forward. 

"  But  oh !  what  am  I  doing  ? "  she  said  suddenly,  slapping 
herself  on  the  forehead  ;  "  but  what  were  you  saying  :  the  old 
prince  is  at  your  lodging  ?     But  is  it  true  1  " 

"  I  assure  you  he  is." 

"Oh,  my  goodness  !  Ach,  it  makes  me  sick !  "  she  hurried 
to  and  fro  about  the  room.  "  And  they  are  doing  what  they  like 
with  him  there  !  Ech,  is  there  nothing  will  frighten  the  fools  1 
And  ever  since  the  morning  !  Oh,  oh,  Anna  Andreyevna.  Oh, 
oh,  the  пгш  !  And  she  of  course,  Militrissa,  knows  nothing 
about  it." 

"  What  Militrissa  1  " 

"  Why,  your  earthly  queen,  your  ideal !  Ach,  but  what's  to 
be  done  now  ?  ". 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna,"  I  cried,  coming  to  myself,  "  we've  been 
talking  nonsense  and  have  forgotten  what  matters  ;  I  ran  out 
to  fetch  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  and  they're  all  waiting  for  me 
there." 

And  I  explained  that  I  should  give  up  the  letter  only  on 
condition  that  she  promised  to  be  reconciled  to  Anna  Andreyevna 
at  once,  and  even  agree  to  the  marriage  .  .  . 

"  Quite  right,  too,"  Tatyana  Pavlovna  interposed,"  and  I've 
said  the  same  thing  to  her  a  hundred  times.  Why,  he'll  die 
before  the  wedding — he  won't  be  married  anyhow,  and  if  he 
leaves  money  to  Anna  in  his  will,  why  their  names  are  in  it 
as  it  is,  and  will  remain  there." 

"  Surely  it's  not  only  the  money  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna 
cares  about  ?  " 

"  No,  she  has  been  afraid  all  along  that  the  letter  was  in 
Anna's  hands,  and  I  was  afraid  of  it,  too  !     We  were  keeping 

534 


watch  on  her.  The  daughter  did  not  want  to  give  the  old  father 
a  shock,  and  the  German,  Btiring,  certainty^  did  feel  anxious 
about  the  money." 

"  And  after  that  she  can  marry  Btiring  ?  " 

"  Why,  what's  one  to  do  with  a  Uttle  fool  ?  It's  a  true  saying, 
a  fool's  a  fool  and  will  be  a  fool  for  ever.  He  gives  her  a  certain 
calm  you  see ;  '  Since  I  must  marry  some  one,'  she  said, '  I'll  marry 
him,  he  will  suit  me  better  than  anyone  '  ;  she  says  ;  but  we 
shall  see  afterwards  how  he  suits  her.  One  may  tear  one's  hair 
afterwards,  but  then  it's  too  late." 

"  Then  why  do  you  allow  it  ?  You  are  fond  of  her,  aren't 
you  ?  Why,  you  told  her  to  her  face  you  were  in  love  with  her  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  in  love  with  her,  and  I  love  her  more  than  all  the 
rest  of  you  put  together,  but  she's  a  senseless  little  fool  all  the 
same." 

"  Well,  run  and  fetch  her  now,  and  we  will  settle  it  all,  and 
take  her  to  her  father  ourselves." 

"  But  we  can't,  we  can't,  you  little  stupid  !  That's  just  it ! 
Ach,  what  are  we  to  do  I  Ach,  it  makes  me  sick  !  "  She  fell  tn 
rushing  to  and  fro  again,  though  she  snatched  up  her  shawl 
"  Ech,  if  only  you  had  come  to  me  four  hours  earlier,  but  now 
it's  eight  o'clock,  and  she  went  oflf  just  now  to  the  Pelistchevs'  to 
dinner,  and  afterwards  she  was  going  with  them  to  the  opera." 

"  Good  heavens  !  can't  we  run  to  the  opera  then  .  .  .  oh,  no, 
we  can't.  What  will  become  of  the  old  man  now  ?  He  may 
die  in  the  night !  " 

"  Listen,  don't  go  there,  but  go  to  your  mother's  for  the  night, 
and  early  to-morrow  .  .  ." 

"  No,  I  won't  desert  the  old  man,  whatever  happens." 

"Well,  don't  desert  him  ;  you  are  right  there.  But  do  you 
know  I'll  run  round  to  her  and  leave  a  note  ...  I  write  in  our 
own  words  (she'll  understand),  that  the  document's  here  and 
that  she  must  be  here  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  morning — 
punctually  !  Don't  worry  yourself,  she'll  come,  she'll  obey  me  ; 
and  then  we'll  put  everything  right.  And  you  run  home,  and 
use  all  your  little  arts  to  please  the  old  prince,  put  him  to  bed, 
and  perhaps  he'll  hold  out  till  the  morning  1  Don't  frighten 
Anna  either,  I  am  fond  of  her  too  ;  you  are  unjust  to  her, 
because  you  can't  understand  :  she  feels  injured,  she  has  been 
injured  from  a  child  ;  ach,  you've  all  been  a  burden  on  me  ! 
Oh,  don't  forget,  tell  her  from  me,  that  I'll  see  to  this  business 
myself,  and  with  a  good  will,  and  tell  her  not  to  worry,  and  her 

535 


pride  shall  not  suffer.  .  .  .  You  see  of  late  we've  done  nothing 
but  quarrel — we've  been  spitting  and  scolding  at  one  another  ! 
Come,  run  along.  .  .  .  But  stay,  show  me  your  pocket  again 
...  is  it  true,  is  it  true  ?  Oh,  is  it  true  ?  Give  me  that  letter 
if  only  for  the  night,  what  is  it  to  you  ?  Leave  it,  I  won't  eat  it. 
You  may  let  it  slip  out  of  your  hands  in  the  night  you  know.  .  .  . 
You'll  change  your  mind  ?  " 

"  Not  for  anything  !  "  I  shouted.  "  Here,  feel  it,  look  at  it, 
but  I  won't  leave  it  for  anything  !  " 

"  I  see  it's  paper,"  she  said,  feeling  it  with  her  fingers.  "  Oh, 
very  well,  go  along,  and  I'll  go  round  to  her,  maybe  I'll  look  in 
at  the  theatre,  too,  that  was  a  good  idea  of  yours  !  But  run 
along,  run  along  !  " 

"  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  wait  a  minute.     How  is  mother  ?  " 

"  She's  alive." 

"  And  Andrey  Petrovitch  ?  " 

She  waved  her  hand. 

"  He  will  come  to  himself  !  " 

I  ran  off,  feeling  cheered,  and  more  hopeful,  although  I  had  not 
been  successful,  as  I  had  reckoned  to  be,  but  alas  !  destiny  had 
decided  otherwise,  and  there  were  other  things  in  store  for  me — 
there  certainly  is  a  fate  in  things. 


2 

From  the  stairs  I  heard  a  noise  in  my  lodging,  and  the  door  of 
the  flat  turned  out  to  be  open.  At  the  door  stood  a  servant  in 
livery  whom  I  did  not  know.  Pyotr  Ippolitovitch  and  his  wife 
were  both  in  the  passage,  too,  looking  scared  and  expectant.  The 
door  into  the  prince's  room  was  open,  and  I  could  hear  within  a 
voice  of  thunder,  which  I  could  recognise  at  once — the  voice  of 
Biiring.  I  had  hardly  taken  two  steps  forward  when  I  saw 
the  old  prince  trembling  and  in  tears,  led  out  into  the  passage  by 
Biiring  and  Baron  R.,  the  gentleman  who  had  called  on  Versilov 
about  the  duel.  The  prince  was  sobbing  loudly,  embracing  and 
kissing  Biiring.  Biiring  was  shouting  at  Anna  Andreyevna,  who 
had  followed  the  old  prince  into  the  passage.  Biiring  was 
threatening  her,  and  I  believe  stamped  at  her — in  fact  the 
coarse  German  soldier  came  to  the  surface  in  spite  of  his  aristo- 
cratic breeding.  It  afterwards  came  out  that  he  had  somehow 
got  hold  of  the  notion  that  Anna  Andreyevna  was  guilty  of 

536 


something  positively  criminal,  and  certainly  would  have  to 
answer  for  her  conduct  before  a  court  of  law.  In  his  ignorance 
he  exaggerated  it  as  the  ignorant  commonly  do,  and  so  con- 
sidered he  had  the  right  to  be  unceremonious  in  the  extreme.  He 
had  not  yet  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  business  :  he  had  been  in- 
formed of  it  by  an  anonymous  letter  (which  I  shall  have  to  refer 
to  later)  and  he  had  rushed  round  in  that  state  of  fury  in  which 
even  the  most  sharp-witted  people  of  his  nationality  are  some- 
times prepared  to  fight  like  brigands.  Anna  Andreyevna  had 
met  all  this  outburst  with  the  utmost  dignity,  but  I  missed  that. 
All  I  saw  was  that,  after  bringing  the  old  man  into  the  passage, 
Biiring  left  him  in  the  hands  of  Baron  R.,  and  rushing  impetuously 
back  to  her,  shouted,  probably  in  reply  to  some  remark  of  hers  : 

"  You're  an  intriguing  adventuress,  you're  after  his  money  ! 
You've  disgraced  yourself  in  society  and  will  answer  for  it  in  a 
court  of  law  !  .  .  ." 

"  You're  taking  advantage  of  an  unfortunate  invalid  and 
driving  him  to  madness.  .  .  .  and  you're  shouting  at  me  because 
I'm  a  woman,  and  there's  no  one  to  defend  me  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are  his  betrothed,  a  fine  betrothed,"  Biiring 
chuckled,  with  spiteful  violence. 

"  Baron,  Baron  .  .  .  chere  enfant,  je  nous  aime,"  wailed  the 
prince,  stretching  out  his  hands  towards  Anna  Andreyevna. 

"  Go  along,  prince,  go  along,  there's  been  a  plot  against  you,  and 
maybe  your  life  was  threatened,"  shouted  Biiring. 

"  Qui,  out,  je  comprends,fai  compris  au  commencement  .  .  ," 

"  Prince,"  Anna  Andreyevna  raised  her  voice.  "  You  are 
insulting  me,  and  letting  me  be  insulted  !  " 

"  Gret  along  with  you,"  Biiring  shouted  at  her  suddenly. 

That  I  could  not  endure. 

"  Blackguard  !  "  I  yelled  at  him  :  "  Anna  Andreyevna,  I'm 
here  to  defend  you  !  " 

What  happened  then  I  cannot  describe  exactly,  and  will  not 
attempt  to.  The  scene  that  followed  was  horrible  and  degrading. 
I  seemed  suddenly  to  lose  my  reason.  I  believe  I  dashed  up  and 
struck  him,  or  at  least  gave  him  a  violent  push.  He  struck  me 
with  all  his  might  on  my  head  so  that  I  fell  on  the  floor.  When 
I  came  to,  I  rushed  after  them  do^vтl  stairs.  I  remember  that  my 
nose  was  bleeding.  At  the  entrance  a  carriage  was  waiting  for 
them,  and  while  they  were  getting  the  prince  in,  I  ran  up,  and  in 
spite  of  the  lackey,  who  pushed  me  back  I  rushed  at  Biiring 
again.     At  this  point  the  police  turned  up,  I  don't  know  how. 

537 


Burmg  seized  me  by  the  collar  and  in  a  threatening  voice  ordered 
the  police  to  take  me  into  custody.  I  shouted  that  he  ought  to 
come  with  me,  that  we  might  make  our  affirmation  together, 
and  that  they  dare  not  take  me  almost  from  my  own  lodging. 
But  as  it  had  all  happened  in  the  street  and  not  in  the  flat,  and 
as  I  shouted  and  fought  Ике  a  drunken  man,  and  as  Biiring  was 
wearing  his  uniform,  the  policeman  took  me.  But  flying  into  a 
perfect  frenzy,  I  believe  at  that  point  I  struck  the  policeman  too. 
Then  I  remember  two  of  them  suddenly  appeared  and  carried 
me  off.  I  faintly  remember  they  took  me  to  a  room  full  of 
tobacco  smoke,  with  all  sorts  of  people  standing  and  sitting  about 
in  it  waiting  and  writing  ;  here  too  I  went  on  shouting,  and 
insisting  on  making  a  statement.  But  things  had  gone  beyond 
that,  and  were  comphcated  by  violence  and  resisting  the  poUce, 
besides  I  looked  absolutely  disreputable.  Some  one  shouted  at 
me  angrily.  Meanwhile  the  policeman  charging  me  with  fighting 
was  describing  the  colonel  .  .  . 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  some  one  shouted  to  me. 

"  Dolgoruky,"  I  yelled. 

"  Prince  Dolgoruky  ?  " 

Beside  myself,  I  answered  by  a  very  coarse  word  of  abuse, 
and  then  .  .  .  then  I  remember  they  dragged  me  to  a  very 
dark  Uttle  room,  set  apart  for  drunkards.  Oh,  I'm  not  com- 
plaining. Readers  will  have  seen  of  late  in  the  newspapers 
a  complaint  made  by  a  gentleman  who  was  kept  all  night 
under  arrest,  tied  up,  and  in  a  room  set  apart  for  drunkards, 
but  I  believe  he  was  quite  innocent  while  I  had  done  something. 
I  threw  myself  on  the  common  bed  which  I  shared  with  two  un- 
conscious sleepers.  My  head  ached,  my  temples  throbbed,  and 
so  did  my  heart.  I  must  have  been  unconscious,  and  I  beheve  I 
was  delirious.  I  only  remember  waking  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  and  sitting  on  the  bed.  I  remembered  everything  at  once 
and  understood  it  in  all  its  bearings,  and,  with  my  elbow  propped 
on  my  knees  and  my  head  in  my  hands,  I  sank  into  profound 
meditation. 

Oh,  I  am  not  going  to  describe  my  feelings,  and  there  is  no  time 
to  do  it,  but  I  will  note  one  thing  only  :  perhaps  I  never  spent 
moments  more  consolatory  to  my  soul  than  those  moments  of 
reflection  in  the  middle  of  the  night  on  that  prison  bed.  This 
will  perhaps  strike  the  reader  as  strange,  and  he  may  be  incUned 
to  set  it  down  to  brag  and  the  desire  to  be  original — and  yet  it 
was  just  as  I  have  said.     It  was  one  of  those  minutes  which 

538 


come  perhaps  to  every  one,  but  only  come  once  in  a  lifetime. 
At  such  moments  men  decide  their  fate,  define  their  point  of 
view,  and  say  to  themselves  once  and  for  all :  "  That's  where  the 
truth  Ues,  and  that  is  the  path  to  take  to  attain  it."  Yes,  those 
moments  were  the  hght  of  my  soul.  Insulted  by  haughty 
Biiring  and  expecting  to  be  insulted  next  day  by  that  aristo- 
cratic lady,  I  knew  that  I  could  revenge  myself  on  them,  but  I 
decided  not  to  revenge  myself.  I  decided,  in  spite  of  every 
temptation,  that  I  would  not  produce  the  '.etter,  and  publish  it  to 
the  whole  world  (the  idea  had  been  floating  in  my  mind)  ;  I 
repeated  to  myself  that  next  day  I  would  put  that  letter  before 
her,  and,  if  need  be,  instead  of  gratitude,  would  bear  her  ironical 
smile,  but  in  any  case  I  would  not  say  a  word  but  would  go  away 
from  her  for  ever.  .  .  .  There  is  no  need  to  enlarge  on  this, 
however.  What  would  happen  next  day  here,  how  I  should  be 
brought  before  the  authorities,  and  what  they  would  do  with  me 
— ^I  almost  forgot  to  think  about.  I  crossed  myself  with  love  in 
my  heart,  lay  down  on  the  bed,  and  fell  into  a  sound  childlike 
sleep. 

I  waked  up  late,  when  it  was  daylight.  I  found  myself  alone  in 
the  room.  I  sat  down  to  wait  in  silence  and  waited  about  an 
hour  ;  it  must  have  been  about  nine  o'clock  when  I  was  suddenly 
summoned.  I  might  go  into  greater  detail  but  it  is  not  worth 
while,  for  all  this  is  now  irrelevant ;  I  need  only  record  what 
matters.  I  must  note,  however,  that  to  my  great  astonishment 
I  was  treated  with  unexpected  courtesy  ;  I  was  questioned,  I 
answered,  and  I  was  at  once  allowed  to  depart.  I  went  out  in 
silence,  and  to  my  satisfaction  saw  in  their  faces  some  surprise 
at  a  man  who  was  able  to  keep  up  his  dignity  even  in  such  cir- 
cumstances. If  I  had  not  noticed  that,  I  should  not  have 
recorded  it.  Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  waiting  for  me  at  the 
entrance.  I  will  explain  in  a  couple  of  words  why  I  was  let  off  so 
easily. 

Early  in  the  morning,  by  eight  o'clock  perhaps,  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  had  flown  round  to  my  lodging,  that  is  to  Pyotr 
IppoUtovitch's,  expecting  to  find  the  old  prince  still  there,  and 
she  heard  at  once  of  all  the  horrors  of  the  previous  day, 
above  all  that  I  had  been  arrested.  She  instantly  rushed 
off  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna  (who  on  returning  from  the 
theatre  the  evening  before  had  had  an  interview  with  the  father 
who  had  been  restored  to  her).  Tatyana  Pavlovna  waked  her 
up,  alarmed  her  and  insisted  that  I  should  be  at  once  released. 

539 


With  a  note  from  her  she  flew  at  once  to  Buring's  and  demanded 
from  him  forthwith  another  note,  to  the  proper  authorities,  with 
an  urgent  request  from  Biiring  himself  that  I  should  be  released, 
as  I  had  been  arrested  through  a  misunderstanding.  With  this 
note  she  presented  herself  to  the  prison  and  her  request  was 
respectfully  granted. 


Now  I  will  go  on" with  my  story. 

Tatyana  Pavlovna  pounced  on  me,  put  me  in  a  sledge,  and  took 
me  home  with  her,  she  immediately  ordered  the  samovar,  and 
washed  and  brushed  me  herself  in  the  kitchen.  In  the  kitchen 
she  told  me  in  a  loud  voice  that  at  half-past  eleven  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  would  come  herself — as  they  had  agreed  that  morn- 
ing— to  meet  me.  Marya  overheard  this.  A  few  minutes  later 
she  brought  in  the  samovar,  and  two  minutes  later,  when  Tatyana 
Pavlovna  called  her,  she  did  not  answer  ;  it  appeared  that  she 
had  gone  out  for  something.  I  beg  the  reader  to  make  special 
note  of  this  ;  it  was  about  a  quarter  to  ten  I  believe.  Though 
Tatyana  Pavlovna  was  angry  at  her  disappearance  without 
asking  leave,  she  only  thought  she  had  gone  out  to  the  shop, 
and  immediately  forgot  about  it.  And,  indeed,  we  had  no 
thoughts  to  spare  for  it,  we  talked  away  without  ceasing,  for  we 
had  plenty  to  talk  about,  so  that  I,  at  least,  scarcely  noticed 
Marya 's  disappearance  ;  I  beg  the  reader  to  make  a  note  of  that. 

As  for  me,  I  was  in  a  sort  of  delirium,  I  pom-ed  out  my  feelings, 
and  above  all  we  were  expecting  Katerina  Nikolaevna,  and  the 
thought  that  in  an  Ьош"  I  should  meet  her  at  last,  and  at  such  a 
turning-point  in  my  life,  made  me  tremble  and  quiver.  At  last, 
when  1  had  drunk  two  cups  of  tea,  Tatyana  Pavlovna  suddenly 
stood  up,  took  a  pair  of  scissors  from  the  table,  and  said  : 

"  Let  me  have  your  pocket,  I  must  take  out  the  letter,  we  can't 
unpick  it  when  she's  here." 

"  Yes,"  I  exclaimed  and  unbuttoned  my  coat. 

"  What  a  muddle  it's  in  !   who  sewed  it  up  ?  " 

"  I  did,  I  did,  Tatyana  Pavlovna." 

"  Well,  I  can  see  you  did.     Come,  here  it  is.  .  .  ." 

We  took  it  out  .  ,  .  the  old  envelope  was  the  same,  but  inside 
was  a  blank  sheet  of  paper. 

'■  What's  this  ?  "  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  turning  it  roimd 
and  round  ..."  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

540 


But  I  was  standing  pale  and  speechless  .  .  .  and  I  suddenly 
sank  helplessly  into  a  chair.     I  really  almost  fainted. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  wailed  Tat  у  ana  Pavlovna.  "  Where 
is  your  letter  ?  " 

"  Lambert !  "  I  jumped  up  suddenly,  slapping  myself  on  the 
forehead  as  I  guessed. 

With  breathless  haste  I  explained  to  her — the  night  at 
Lambert's  and  our  plot ;  I  had,  however,  confessed  that  to 
her  the  night  before. 

"  They've  stolen  it,  they've  stolen  it !  "  I  cried,  stamping  on 
the  floor  and  clutching  at  my  hair. 

"  That's  terrible  !  "  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  grasping  what 
had  happened. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

It  was  about  eleven. 

"  Ech,  there's  no  Marya  !  .  .  .  Marya,  Marya  f  " 

"  What  is  it,  mistress  ?  "  Marya  responded  from  the  kitchen. 

"  Are  you  here  ?  What  are  we  to  do  now  !  I  will  fly  to  her. 
.  .  .  Ah,  slow  coach,  slow  coach  !  " 

"  And  I  to  Lambert,"  I  yelled,  "  and  I  wiH  strangle  him  if 
need  be." 

"  Mistress,"  Marya  piped  suddenly  from  the  kitchen,  "  here's 
a  person  asking  for  you  very  particularly." 

But  before  she  had  time  to  finish,  the  person  burst  in  from  the 
kitchen,  making  a  great  outcry  and  lamentation.  It  was 
Alphonsine.  I  will  not  describe  the  scene  in  detail ;  the  scene 
was  a  fraud  and  a  deception,  but  I  must  say  Alphonsine  acted 
it  splendidly.  With  tears  of  repentance  and  with  violent  gesticu- 
lations she  babbled  (in  French,  of  coiu*se),  that  she  had  unpicked 
the  letter  herself,  that  it  was  now  in  Lambert's  hands,  and  that 
Lambert,  together  with  that  "  brigand,"  cet  homme  noir,  meant 
to  entice  Mme.  la  generate  to  shoot  her,  immediately  within  an 
hour  .  .  .  that  she  knew  all  this  from  them,  and  that  she  had 
suddenly  taken  fright  because  she  saw  they  had  a  pistol,  le 
pistolet,  and  now  she  had  rushed  off  to  us,  that  we  might  go, 
might  save,  might  warn.  .  .  .  That  cet  homme  noir.  .  .  ." 

In  fact,  it  all  sounded  very  probable,  the  very  stupidity  of 
some  of  Alphonsine's  expressions  only  increased  its  apparent 
truthfulness. 

"  What  homme  noir  ?  "  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna. 

"  Tien,  j'ai  ovblie  son  пот.  .  .  Un  homme  affreux.  .  .  Tien*, 
Versilov." 

541 


"  Versilov,  it  cannot  be,"  I  cried  ! 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  can  !  "  wailed  Tatyana  Pavlovna  :  "  come,  tell 
us  my  good  woman  without  dancing  about,  don't  wave  your  arms 
about ;  what  do  they  want  ?  Explain,  my  good  woman  ;  I 
don't  believe  they  mean  to  shoot  her." 

"  My  good  woman  "  did  explain  as  follows  (N.B. — ^it  was  all  a 
lie,  I  must  remind  the  reader  again) :  Versilov  was  to  sit  at  the 
door  and  when  she  went  in  Lambert  was  to  show  her  cette  lettre, 

then  Versilov  was  to  rush  in  and  they  would Oh  !    tie 

feront  leur  vengeance  !  that  she,  Alphonsine,  was  afraid  there 
would  be  trouble,  because  she  had  had  a  share  in  the  business 
herself,  cette  dame,  la  genirale  would  certainly  come  at  once, 
at  once,  because  they  had  sent  her  a  copy  of  the  letter,  and  she 
would  see  at  once  that  they  really  had  the  letter,  and  would  go 
to  interview  them,  but  only  Lambert  had  written  the  letter,  so 
she  knew  nothing  about  Versilov  ;  and  Lambert  had  introduced 
himself  as  a  stranger  who  had  come  from  a  lady  in  Moscow, 
une  dame  de  Moscou  (N.B. — Marie  Ivanovna  !) 

."  Ach,  I  feel  sick  !  Ach,  I  feel  sick  !  "  exclaimed  Tatyana 
Pavlovna. 

"  Sauvez  la,  sauvez  la  f"  cried  Alphonsine. 

Oh,  of  course  there  was  something  inconsistent,  even  at  first 
sight,  in  this  mad  story,  but  there  was  no  time  to  think  it  over, 
for  in  essentials  it  sounded  very  probable.  Of  course,  one  might 
still  suppose,  and  with  the  greatest  likelihood,  that  Katerina 
Nikolaevna,  on  receiving  Lambert's  summons,  would  come  first 
to  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  to  discuss  the  matter  with  us  ;  and  on 
the  other  hand,  this  might  not  happen,  and  she  might  go  straight 
to  him,  and  then — she  was  lost !  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that 
she  would  rush  off  to  a  stranger  like  Lambert  at  the  first  sum- 
mons ;  yet,  again,  this  might  somehow  happen,  after  seeing  the 
copy  and  satisfying  herself  that  they  really  had  her  letter,  and 
then  there  would  be  disaster  anyway  !  Above  all,  we  had  no 
time  even  to  reflect. 

"  Versilov  will  murder  her  !  if  he  has  stooped  to  make  use 
of  Lambert  he'll  murder  her  !     It's  the  second  self,"  I  cried. 

"  Ah  that  '  second  self  '  !  "  cried  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  wringing 
her  hands.  "  Well,  this  is  no  use,"  she  said  decidedly,  "  take 
your  cap  and  coat  and  quick  march  together.  Lead  us  straight 
to  them,  my  good  woman.  Ach,  it's  a  long  way.  Marya, 
Marya,  if  Katerina  Nikolaevna  comes,  tell  her  I  shall  be  back 
directly  and  make  her  sit  and  wait  for  me,  and  if  she  does  not 

542 


want  to  wait,  lock  the  door  and  keep  her  by  force.  Tell  her  I 
told  her  to.  A  hundred  roubles  for  you,  Marya,  if  you  deserve 
it." 

We  ran  down  stairs.  No  doubt  nothing  better  could  have 
been  suggested,  for,  in  any  case,  the  chief  scene  of  danger  was  in 
Lambert's  lodging,  and  if  Katerina  Nikolaevna  did  really  come 
first  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  lodgings,  Marya  could  always  detain 
her.  Yet  after  she  had  called  a  sledge,  Tatyana  Pavlovna 
changed  her  mind. 

"  You  go  with  her,"  she  bade  me,  leaving  me  with  Alphonsine 
"  and  if  need  be,  die  there,  do  you  understand  ?  I'll  follow  you 
directly,  but  first  I'll  whisk  round  to  her,  maybe  I  shall  find  her, 
for  say  what  you  like,  I  feel  suspicious  !  " 

And  she  flew  off  to  Katerina  Nikolaevna. 

Alphonsine  and  I  went  our  way  towards  Lambert's.  I  urged 
on  the  driver  and  continued  to  question  Alphonsine,  but  she  con- 
fined herself  to  exclamations,  and  finally  took  refuge  in  tears. 
But  God  saved  and  preserved  us  all  when  everything  was  hanging 
on  a  thread.  We  had  not  driven  a  quarter  of  the  way  when  I 
suddenly  heard  a  shout  behind  me  ;  some  one  was  calling  me  by 
my  name.  I  looked  roimd — Trishatov  was  driving  after  us  in 
another  sledge. 

"  Where  are  you  going,"  he  shouted  in  alarm,  "  and  with  her, 
with  Alphonsine  ?  " 

"  Trishatov,"  I  cried,  "  you  told  the  truth,  there  is  trouble  I 
I  am  going  to  that  scoundrel,  Lambert's  !  Let's  go  together, 
the  more  the  better  !  " 

"  Turn  back,  turn  back  at  once,"  shoulted  Trishatov,  "  Lam- 
bert's deceiving  you,  and  Alphonsine 's  deceiving  you.  The 
pock-marked  fellow  sent  me  ;  they  are  not  at  home,  I  met 
Versilov  and  Lambert  just  now  ;  they  were  driving  to  Tatyana 
Pavlovna's  .  .    they're  there  now.  .  .  ." 

I  stopped  the  driver  and  jumped  out  to  join  Trishatov.  To  this 
day  I  don't  know  how  I  could  make  up  my  mind  so  quickly,  but 
I  beUeved  him  at  once,  and  made  up  my  mind.  Alphonsine 
raised  a  terrible  outcry,  but  we  did  not  trouble  ourselves  about 
her,  and  I  don't  know  whether  she  followed  us  or  went  home, 
anyway,  I  did  not  see  her  again. 

In  the  sledge,  Trishatov  told  me  breathlessly  that  there  was 
some  sort  of  plot  on  foot,  that  Lambert  had  been  plotting  with 
the  pock-marked  man,  but  that  the  latter  had  betrayed  him  at 
the  last  moment,  and  had  sent  Trishatov  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna's 

543 


to  warn  her  not  to  believe  Lambert  and  Alphonsine.  Trishatov 
added  that  he  knew  nothing  more,  and  that  the  pock-marked 
gentleman  had  told  him  nothing  more,  for  he  had  been  in  a  hurry 
himself,  and  it  had  all  been  settled  in  haste.  "  I  saw  you 
driving,"  Trishatov  went  on,  "  and  drove  after  you." 

It  was  clear,  of  course,  that  this  pock-marked  individual  also 
knew  the  whole  story,  since  he  had  sent  Trishatov  straight  to 
Tatyana  Pavlovna's,  but  that  was  another  mystery.  But  to 
avoid  a  muddle  I  will,  before  describing  the  catastrophe,  explain 
the  actual  fact,  and  for  the  last  time  anticipate  the  order  of 
events. 


After  stealing  the  letter  Lambert  at  once  got  into  commimica- 
tion  with  Versilov.  How  Versilov  could  have  brought  himself 
to  join  Lambert — I  won't  discuss  for  the  time  ;  that  will  come 
later  ;  what  was  chiefly  responsible  was  the  "  second  self  !  " 
After  joining  Versilov,  Lambert  still  had  to  entice  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  as  cunningly  as  he  could.  Versilov  assured  him  at 
once  that  she  would  not  come.  But  ever  since  the  day  before 
yesterday,  when  I  met  him  in  the  street  in  the  evening,  broke  off 
all  relations  with  him,  and  told  him  that  I  should  give  back  the 
letter  at  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  lodgings  and  in  her  presence — 
Lambert  had  arranged  to  keep  a  watch  on  Tatyana  Pavlovna's 
lodgings  ;  Marya  was  bought  over  as  a  spy.  Marya  was  given 
twenty  roubles,  and  after  the  theft  of  the  letter,  Lambert  visited 
Marya  a  second  time,  settling  with  her  finally,  and  promising 
to  pay  her  two  hundred  roubles  for  her  services. 

That  was  why  Marya  had  rushed  from  the  flat  and  galloped  off 
in  a  sledge  to  Lambert's,  with  the  news,  as  soon  as  she  heard 
that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  was  to  be  at  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  at 
half -past  eleven,  and  that  I,  too,  should  be  present.  This  was 
just  the  information  she  was  to  bring  Lambert ;  that  was  pre- 
cisely the  duty  assigned  her.  Versilov  happened  to  be  with 
Lambert  at  that  very  moment.  In  one  moment  Versilov  had 
devised  the  diabolical  plan.  They  say  that  madmen  are  at  times 
extraordinarily  cunning. 

The  plot  was  to  lure  both  of  us,  Tatyana  and  me,  out 
of  the  flat  at  all  costs,  if  only  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
but  before  Katerina  Nikolaevna  arrived.  Then  they  meant 
to  wait  in  the  street,  and  as  soon  as  Tatyana  Pavlovna  and 

544 


I  had  come  out,  to  run  into  the  flat,  which  ]\Iarya  was 
to  open  to  them,  and  there  to  aлvait  Katerina  Nikolaevna. 
Alphonsine,  meantime  was  to  do  her  utmost  to  detain  us  where 
and  how  she  pleased.  Katerina  Nikolaevna  would  be  sure  to 
come,  as  she  promised,  at  half-past  eleven,  so  that  sho  would 
certainly  be  there  long  before  we  could  be  back.  (Of  course, 
Katerina  Nikolae\aia  had  received  no  summons  from  Lambert. 
Alphonsine  had  told  us  a  lie  and  Versilov  had  invented  the  story 
in  all  its  details,  and  Alphonsijie  had  simply  played  the  part  of 
the  frightened  traitor.)  Of  course,  it  was  a  risk,  but  they  pri^b- 
ably  reasoned  ihat  if  it  answered  all  would  be  лусП,  if  it  failed 
nothing  would  have  been  lost,  for  the  document  would  still  be 
in  their  possession.  But  it  did  answer  and  could  not  possibly 
have  failed  to  do  so,  for  we  could  not  but  follow  Alphonsine  on 
the  barest  supposition  that  what  she  said  might  be  true.  I 
repeat  again  ;   there  л\аз  no  time  to  reflect. 


We  ran  with  Trishatov  into  the  kitchen  and  found  Marj'ain  a 
fright.  She  was  horrified  to  notice  that  when  she  let  Versilov 
and  Lambert  in,  that  the  latter  had  a  revolver  in  his  hand. 
Though  she  had  taken  money,  the  revolver  had  not  entered  into 
her  calculations.  She  was  bewildered  and  rushed  at  me  as  soon 
as  she  saw  me. 

The  lady  has  come  and  they've  got  a  pistol  !  " 

"  Trishatov,  stay  here  in  the  kitchen,"  1  said,  "and  as  soon 
as  I  shout,  run  as  quickly  as  you  can  to  help  me." 

Marya  opened  the  door  in  the  passage^  and  I  slipped  into 
Tatyana  Pa vlovaia's  bedroom — into  the  tin}'  cupboard  uf  a  room 
in  which  there  was  only  space  for  Tatyana  I'avloNTia's  bed.  and 
in  whicli  (^nce  I  had  already  accidentally  played  the  eavcs- 
drop]K'r.  I  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  at  once  found  a  peephole 
for  myself  in  the  curtain. 

There  was  already  a  noise  in  the  room  and  they  were  talking 
loudly  ;  I  may  mention  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  arrived  at  the 
flat  just  a  minute  after  them.  I  heard  the  noise  and  talk  from 
the  kitchen  ;  Lambert  was  shouting.  She  Avas  sitting  on  the 
sofa,  and  he  was  standing  before  her  shouting  like  a  fool.  Now 
I  know  why  he  lo.st  his  head  so  stupidlv  :  he  was  in  a  hurry  and 
afraid  they  л\оиЫ  be  discovered.     1  will  explain  later  \\ho  it 

54э 


was  he  feared.  The  letter  was  in  his  hand.  But  Versilov  was 
not  in  the  room.  I  was  ready  to  rush  in  at  the  first  sign  of 
danger.  I  record  only  the  gist  of  the  conversation,  perhaps  a 
good  deal  I  don't  remember  correctly,  but  I  was  too  much  excited 
to  remember  with  perfect  accuracy. 

"  This  letter's  worth  thirty  thousand  roubles,  and  you  are 
surprised  !  It's  worth  a  hundred  thousand,  and  I  only  ask 
thirty  !  "   Lambert  said  in  a  loud  voice,  terribly  excited. 

Though  Katerina  Nikolaevna  was  evidently  frightened,  she 
looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  contemptuous  wonder. 

"  I  see  that  a  trap  has  been  laid  for  me,  and  I  don't  under- 
stand it,"  she  said  :  "  but  if  only  that  letter  is  really  in  your 
hands."  .... 

"But  here  it  is,  see  for  yourself  !  Isn't  that  it  ?  An  lOU  for 
thirty  thousand  and  not  a  farthing  less  !  "  Lambert  interrupted 
her. 

"  I've  no  money." 

"  Write  an  lOU — here's  paper.  Then  go  and  get  the 
money,  and  I  will  wait  a  week — no  more.  .  .  .  Give  me  the 
money  and  then  I  will  give  you  back  the  lOU  and  give  you 
the  letter." 

"  You  take  such  a  strange  tone.  You  are  making  a  mistake. 
That  letter  will  be  taken  from  you,  if  I  go  to-day  and  lodge  a 
complaint." 

"  To  whom  ?  Ha-ha-ha  ?  What  of  the  scandal,  and  we  shall 
show  the  letter  to  the  prince  !  Where  are  they  going  to  find  it  ? 
I  don't  keep  the  document  at  my  lodging.  I  shall  show  it  to 
your  father  through  a  third  person.  Don't  be  obstinate, 
madam,  be  thankful  that  I'm  not  asking  much,  any  other  man 
would  ask  fpr  something  else  besides  .  .  .  you  know  what  .  .  . 
which  many  a  pretty  woman  would  not  refuse  in  such  trying 
circvmistances,  that's  what  I  mean  .  .  .  ha-ha-ha  !  Vous  Hea 
belle,  vous  !  " 

Katerina  Nikolaevna  rose  impetuously,  tiu-ned  crimson — and 
spat  in  his  face.  Then  she  turned  quickly  towards  the  door. 
It  was  at  this  point  that  the  fool,  Lambert,  pulled  out  the  re- 
volver. 

Like  an  imimaginative  fool  he  had  put  blind  faith  in  the  effect 
of  the  document ;  his  chief  error  lay  in  not  distinguishing  what 
sort  of  woman  he  had  to  deal  with,  because,  ал  I  have  said 
already,  he  thought  every  one  was  as  mean  in  their  feelings  as 
he  was.    He  angered  her  from  the  first  word  by  his  rudeness, 

546 


though  perhaps  otherwise  she  might  not  have  declined  to  con- 
sider the  question  of  payment, 

"  Don't  stir  !  "  he  yelled,  furious  at  her  spitting  at  him, 
clutching  her  by  the  shoulder,  and  showing  her  the  revolver — 
simply,  of  course,  to  frighten  her.  She  uttered  a  shriek  and 
sank  on  the  sofa.  I  burst  into  the  room ;  but,  at  the  same  instant, 
Versilov  ran  in  at  the  other  door.  (He  had  been  standing  outside 
the  door  waiting.)  In  a  flash  he  had  snatched  the  revolver  from 
Lambert,  and  with  all  his  might  hit  him  on  the  head  with  it. 
Lambert  staggered  and  fell  senseless  ;  the  blood  streamed  from 
his  head  upon  the  carpet. 

She  saw  Versilov,  turned  suddenly  as  white  as  a  sheet,  gazed 
at  him  for  some  moments  immovable  with  indescribable  horror, 
and  fell  into  a  swoon.     He  rushed  to  her.     It  all  flashes  before 
my  eyes  as  I  write.     I  remember  with  what  terror  I  saw  his 
flushed  almost  purple  face  and  his  bloodshot  eyes.     I  believe 
that  though  he  saw  me  in  the  room  he  did  not  recognise  me. 
He  caught  her  as  she  fell  unconscious,  and  with  amazing  ease 
lifted  her  up  in  his  arms,  as  though  she  were  a  feather,  and  began 
aimlessly  carrying  her  about  the  room  like  a  baby.     It  was  a 
tiny  room,  but  he  paced  to  and  fro  from  corner  to  corner,  evi- 
dently with  no  idea  why  he  was  doing  so.     In  one  instant  he 
had  lost  his  reason.     He  kept  gazing  at  her,  at  her  face.     I  ran 
after  him  ;  what  I  was  most  afraid  of  was  the  revolver,  which  he 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  in  his  right  hand,  and  was  holding  close 
to  her  head.     But  he  pushed  me  away,  once  with  his  elbow,  and 
the  second  time  with  his  foot.     I  wanted  to  shout  to  Trishatov, 
but  I  was  afraid  of  irritating  the  madman.     At  last  I  drew  back 
the  curtain  and  began  entreating  him  to  put  her  on  the  bed.     He 
went  up  and  laid  her  down  on  it,  stood  over  her,  and  gazed  a1>  her 
face  ;    and,  suddenly  bending  down,   kissed  her  twice  on  her 
pale  lips.     Oh,  I  realised  at  last  that  this  was  a  man  utterly 
beside  himself.    He  suddenly  waved  the  revolver  over  her,  but, 
as  though  realising,  tiu-ned  the  revolver  and  aimed  it  at  her  face. 
I  instantly  seized  his  arm  and  shouted  to  Trishatov.     I  remember 
we  both  struggled  with  him,  but  he  succeeded  in  pulling  away 
his  arm  and  firing  at  himself.     He  would  have  shot  her  and  then 
himself,  but  since  we  would  not  let  him  get  at  her,  he  pressed 
the  revolver  against  his  heart ;  I  succeeded,  however,  in  pushing 
his  arm  upwards,  and  the  bullet  struck  him  in  the  shoulder.    At 
that  instant  Tatyana  Pavlovna  burst  into  the  room  shrieking ; 
but  he  was  already  lying  sensel&ss  on  the  carpet  beside  Lambert. 

547 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CONCLUSION 

1 

Almost  six  months  have  passed  since  that  scene,  much  has 
happened,  much  has  completely  changed,  and  a  new  life  has 
begun  for  me  since  then.  .  .  .  But  I  must  settle  what  I  have 
left  doubtful  in  my  story. 

To  me  at  least,  the  first  question  at  the  time,  and  long  after- 
wards was  :  how  Versilov  could  have  brought  himself  to  act  in 
concert  with  a  man  like  Lambert,  and  what  were  his  objects  in 
doing  so  ?  Little  by  little,  I  have  arrived  at  an  explanation  of  a 
sort ;  to  my  thinking,  at  those  moments,  that  is,  all  that  last 
day  and  the  day  before,  Versilov  can  have  had  no  definite  aim, 
and  I  believe,  indeed,  he  did  not  reflect  on  the  matter  at  all,  but 
acted  under  the  influence  of  a  whirlwind  of  conflicting  emotions. 
But  the  theory  of  actual  madness  I  cannot  accept,  especially  as 
he  is  not  in  the  least  mad  now.  But  the  "  second  self  "  I  do 
accept  unquestionably.  What  is  a  second  self  exactly  ? 
The  second  self,  according  to  a  medical  book,  written  by 
an  expert,  which  I  purposely  read  afterwards,  is  nothing 
else  than  the  first  stage  of  serious  mental  derangement, 
which  may  lead  to  something  very  bad.  And  in  that  scene 
at  my  mother's,  Versilov  himself  had  with  strange  frankness 
described  the  "  duality "  of  his  will  and  feelings.  But  I 
repeat  again  :  though  that  scene  at  mother's  and  that  broken 
ikon  were  undoubtedly  partly  due  to  the  influence  of  a  real 
"second  self,"  yet  I  have  ever  since  been  haimted  by  the  fancy 
that  there  was  in  it  an  element  of  a  sort  of  vindictive  symbolism, 
a  sort  of  resentment  against  the  expectations  of  those  women,  a 
sort  of  angry  revolt  against  their  rights  and  their  criticism. 
And  so  hand  in  hand  with  the  "  second  self  "  he  broke  the  ikon, 
as  though  to  say  "  that's  how  your  expectations  will  be 
shattered  !  "  In  fact,  even  though  the  "  second  self  "  did  come 
in,  it  was  partly  simply  a  whim.  .  .  .  But  all  this  is  only  my 
theory  ;  it  would  be  hard  to  decide  for  certain. 

It  is  true  that  in  spite  of  bis  adoration  for  Katerina  Nikolaevna, 
he  had  a   deep-rooted  and  perfectly  genuine  disbelief  in   her 

548 


moral  qualities.  I  really  believe  that  he  waited  outside  the 
door  then,  to  see  her  humiliated  before  Lambert.  But  did  he 
desire  it,  if  even  he  waited  for  it  1  Again  I  repeat :  I  firmly 
believe  that  he  had  no  desire,  no  intention  even.  He  simply 
wanted  to  be  there,  to  rush  in  afterwards,  to  say  something, 
perhaps  to  insult,  perhaps  even  to  kill  her.  .  .  .  Anything  might 
happen  then  ;  but  when  he  came  with  Lambert  he  had  no  idea 
what  would  happen.  I  may  add  that  the  revolver  was  Lambert's 
and  that  he  himself  came  unarmed.  Seeing  her  proud  dignity, 
and  above  all,  exasperated  by  Lambert's  blackguardliness  in 
threatening  her,  he  dashed  in — and  only  then  went  mad.  Did 
he  mean  to  shoot  her  at  that  instant  ?  In  my  opinion  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  doing,  but  he  certainly  would  have  shot  her  if 
we  had  not  thrust  aside  his  hand. 

His  wound  proved  to  be  not  a  fatal  one,  and  it  healed,  but  he 
was  ill  in  bed  rather  a  long  time,  at  mother's,  of  course. 

Now  as  I  am  writing  these  lines  it  is  the  middle  of  May,  an 
exquisite  spring  day,  and  our  windows  are  open.  Mother  is 
sitting  beside  him  :  he  strokes  her  cheeks  and  hair  and  gazes  into 
her  face  with  tender  emotion.  Oh,  this  is  only  the  half  of  the 
old  Versilov,  he  never  leaves  mother's  side  now,  and  will  never 
leave  her  again.  He  has  even  gained  the  "gift  of  tears,"  as 
Makar  Ivanovitch,  of  precious  memory,  said  in  his  story  about 
the  merchant.  I  fancy,  however,  that  Versilov  has  a  long  life 
before  him.  With  us  he  is  perfectly  good-natured  and  candid 
as  a  child,  though  he  never  loses  his  sense  of  proportion  and  self- 
control,  and  does  not  talk  too  freely.  All  his  intellect  and 
his  moral  nature  have  remained  vmchanged,  though  all  his  ideal 
side  has  become  more  marked.  I  may  say  frankly  that  I  have 
never  loved  him  so  much  as  now,  and  I  regret  that  I  have  neither 
time  nor  space  to  say  more  about  him. 

I  will,  however,  tell  one  recent  anecdote  about  him  (and 
there  are  many).  He  had  quite  recovered  by  Lent,  and  in  the 
sixth  week  declared  that  he  would  fast  and  take  the  sacrament. 
He  had  not  taken  the  sacrament  for  thirty  years  or  more  I  believe. 
Mother  was  delighted  ;  they  began  preparing  Lenten  dishes, 
rather  expensive,  dainty  ones,  however.  In  the  next  room  I 
heard  him  on  Monday  and  Tuesday  chanting  to  himself  "  The 
Bridegroom  cometh,"  and  he  was  delighted  with  the  verses  and 
the  chant.  He  spoke  beautifully  of  reUgion  several  times  during 
those  days  ;  but  on  Wednesday  the  fast  suddenly  came  to  an  end. 
Something  suddenly  irritated  him,  some  "  amusing  contrast," 

549 


as  he  expressed  it,  laughing ;  he  disliked  something  in  the  exterior 
of  the  priest,  in  the  surroundings  ;  whatever  it  was,  he  returned 
and  said  with  a  gentle  smile  :  "  My  friends,  I  love  God,  but  I  am 
not  fitted  for  that."  The  same  day  roast  beef  was  served  at 
dinner. 

But  I  know  that  even  now  mother  often  sits  beside  him,  and 
in  a  low  voice,  with  a  gentle  smile,  begins  to  talk  to  him  of  the 
most  abstract  subjects  :  now  she  has  somehow  grown  daring 
with  him,  but  how  this  has  come  to  pass  I  don't  know^  She  sits 
beside  him  and  speaks  to  him  usually  in  a  whisper.  He  listens 
with  a  smile,  strokes  her  hair,  kisses  her  hand,  and  there  is  the 
light  of  perfect  happiness  in  his  face.  He  sometimes  has  attacks 
that  are  almost  like  hysterics.  Then  he  takes,  her  photograph, 
the  one  he  kissed  that  evening,  gazes  at  it  with  tears,  kisses  it, 
recalls  the  past,  gathers  iis  all  round  him,  but  at  such  moments 
he  says  little.  .  .  , 

Katerina  Nikolaevna  he  seems  to  have  completely  for- 
gotten and  has  never  once  mentioned.  Nothing  has  been  said 
of  marriage  with  my  mother  so  far,  either.  They  did  think  of 
taking  him  abroad  for  the  summer  ;  but  Tatyana  Pavlovna 
strongly  opposed  it,  and  he  did  not  desire  it  himself.  They  will 
spend  the  summer  at  a  villa,  in  some  country  place  in  the  neigh- 
boiuhood  of  Petersburg.  By  the  way  we  are  all  still  hiding  at  the 
expense  of  Tatyana  Pavlovna.  One  thing  I  will  add  :  I  am 
dreadfully  sorry  that  I  have  several  times  in  this  narrative 
allowed  myself  to  take  up  a  disrespectful  and  superior  attitude 
in  regard  to  Versilov.  But  as  I  wrote  I  imagined  myself  precisely 
at  each  of  the  moments  I  was  describing.  As  I  finish  my  narra- 
tive and  write  the  last  lines,  I  suddenly  feel  by  the  very  process 
of  recalling  and  recording,  I  have  re-educated  myself.  I  regret  a 
great  deal  I  have  wTitten,  especially  the  tone  of  certain  sentences 
and  pages,  but  I  will  not  cross  them  out  or  correct  a  single  word. 

I  have  stated  that  he  never  says  one  word  of  Katerina  Niko- 
laevna ;  but  I  really  believe  that  he  is  quite  cured  of  his  passion. 
Of  her  1  never  speak  except  sometimes  to  Tatyana  Pavlovna, 
and  then  in  secret.  Katerina  Nikolaevna  is  now  abroad  ;  I 
saw  her  before  she  went  away,  and  visited  her  several  times. 
Since  she  has  been  abroad  I  have  received  two  letters  from  her, 
and  have  answered  them.  But  of  what  was  in  her  letter  and 
what  we  discussed  I  will  say  nothing ;  that  is  another  story,  a 
quite  new  story,  and  perhaps  it  is  still  in  the  future  ;  indeed 
there  are  some  things  of  which  I  say  nothing  even  to  Tatyana 

550 


Pavloviia,  but  enough  of  that.  I  will  only  add  that  she  is  not 
married,  and  that  she  is  travelling  with  the  Pelistchevs.  Her 
father  is  dead  and  she  is  the  richest  of  widows.  At  this  moment 
ehe  is  in  Paris. 

Her  rupture  with  Buring  took  place  very  quickly,  and  as  it 
were  of  itself,  that  is,  extremely  naturally.  I  will  describe  it, 
however. 

On  the  morning  of  that  terrible  scene,  the  pock-marked  man 
to  whom  Trishatov  and  his  tall  friend  had  gone  over,  succeeded 
in  letting  Buring  know  of  the  proposed  crime.  This  was  how  it 
happened.  Lambert  still  tried  to  pursuade  him  to  work  with 
him,  and,  when  he  gained  possession  of  the  letter,  he  told  him 
all  the  details  of  the  undertaking,  up  to  the  very  last  moment, 
that  is,  when  Versilov  suggested  the  trick  to  get  rid  of  Tatyana 
Pavlovna.  But  at  the  last  moment  the  pock-marked  man,  who 
had  more  sense  than  the  rest,  and  foresaw  the  possibility  of  a 
serious  crime  being  committed,  preferred  to  betray  Lambert. 
He  reckoned  upon  Buring's  gratitude  as  something  more  secure 
than  the  fantastic  plan  made  by  Lambert,  who  was  clumsy  and 
hotheaded,  and  by  Versilov,  who  was  almost  mad  with  passion. 
All  this  I  learned  afterwards  from  Trishatov.  I  know  nothing, 
by  the  way,  of  Lambert's  relations  with  the  pock-marked  man, 
and  I  cannot  imderstand  why  Lambert  could  not  have  acted 
without  him.  A  question  of  far  more  interest  for  me  is  why 
Lambert  needed  Versilov  when,  having  the  letter  in  his  possession, 
he  might  perfectly  well  have  dispensed  with  the  latter's  assistance. 
The  answer  is  clear  to  me  now.  Versilov  was  of  use  to  Lambert 
from  his  knowledge  of  all  the  circumstances ;  moreover,  if  their 
plans  miscarried,  or  some  accident  happened,  Lambert  reckoned 
on  throwing  all  responsibility  on  Versilov.  And  since  the  latter 
did  not  want  money,  Lambert  thought  his  help  very  opportune. 

But  Buring  did  not  arrive  in  time.  When  he  reached  the 
scene  of  action  an  hour  later,  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  flat  wore  a 
very  different  aspect.  Five  minutes  after  Versilov  had  fallen 
on  the  carpet,  covered  with  blood,  Lambert,  whom  we  all 
believed  to  be  dead,  raised  his  head  and  got  up.  He  looked 
about  him  with  amazement,  q\iickly  grasped  the  position,  went 
into  the  kitchen  without  saying  a  word,  put  on  his  coat,  and 
disappeared  for  ever.  The  document  he  left  on  the  table.  I 
have  heard  that  he  was  not  seriously  ill  but  only  slightly  indis- 
posed afterwards  ;  the  blow  from  the  revolver  had  stunned  him 
and  drawn  blood,  but  bad  done  no  further  harm. 

551 


Meanwhile  Trishatov  had  run  for  the  doctor  ;  but  before  the 
doctor  arrived,  Versilov,  too,  returned  to  consciousness,  though 
before  that  Tatyana  Pavlovna  succeeded  in  bringing  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  to  herself  and  taking  her  home.  And  so  when 
Buring  ran  in  upon  us  he  found  in  Tatyana  Pavlovna's  flat  only 
me,  the  doctor,  Versilov,  and  my  mother,  who  had  been  fetched 
by  Trishatov,  and  though  still  ill,  had  come  in  haste,  beside 
herself  with  anxiety.  Buring  stared  at  us  with  amazement,  and 
as  soon  as  he  learned  that  Katerina  Nikolaevna  had  gone  home 
he  went  off  to  see  her  without  saying  another  word  to  us. 

He  was  perturbed  ;  he  saw  clearly  that  now  scandal  and 
gossip  луеге  almost  inevitable.  The  affair  did  not  make  any  great 
scandal,  however.  The  pistol-shot  could  not  be  concealed,  it  is 
true  ;  but  the  chief  facts  remained  almost  imknown.  All  that 
was  discovered  by  the  investigation  that  was  made  was  that  a 
certain  V.,  a  man  passionately  in  love,  though  almost  fifty  and 
with  a  famil}^  had  declared  his  feelings  to  the  young  lady,  a 
person  worthy  of  the  highest  respect,  who  did  not  share  his 
sentiments,  and  in  a  sudden  access  of  madness  had  shot  himself. 
Nothing  more  than  this  came  out,  and  in  that  form  the  story  even 
got  into  the  papers,  no  names  being  mentioned  but  only  initials. 
I  Imow  that  Lambert  was  not  troubled  in  any  way. 

Nevertheless  Biiring  was  alarmed.  To  make  matters  worse  he 
chanced  to  learn  of  the  interview  between  Katerina  Nikolaevna 
and  Versilov  two  days  before  the  catastrophe.  This  enraged 
him,  and  he  rather  incautiously  ventured  to  observe  to  Katerina 
Nikolaevna  that  after  that  he  луаз  not  surprised  that  such 
extraordinary  adventiures  could  happen  to  her.  Katerina 
Nikolae\^la  refused  him  on  the  spot,  without  anger,  but  without 
hesitation.  All  her  preconceived  ideas  of  the  judiciousness  of 
marrying  such  a  man  vanished  like  smoke.  Possibly  she  had  seen 
tlirough  him  long  before,  and  perhaps  the  shock  she  had  been 
exposed  to  had  changed  some  of  her  views  and  feelings.  But  of 
that  again  I  will  say  nothing.  I  will  only  add  that  Lambert 
made  his  escape  to  Moscow,  and  that  I  have  heard  he  got  into 
trouble  over  something  there.  Trishatov  1  have  lost  sight  of  since 
that  day,  though  I  am  still  trying  to  track  him  ;  he  vanished 
after  the  death  of  his  friend  "  le  grand  dadais,''  who  shot 
himself. 


552 


I  have  mentioned  the  death  of  the  old  prince  Nikolay  Ivnno- 
vitch.     The  good-natured,  kindly  old  man  died  not  hjag  after 
his  advcntiu'c.     His  death  took  place,  however,  quite  a  month 
later  in  liis  bed  at  night,  from  a  stroke.     I  never  saw  him  again 
after  the  day  he  луая  in  my  flat.     I  was  told  that  during  that 
month  he  became  far  more  rational,  more  tender  in  his  manner 
even,  he  ceased  to  be  apprehensive,  shed  no  more  tears,  and 
did  not  once  utter  a  word  about  Anna  .\ndxeyevna.     All  his 
affection  was  centred  on  his  daughter.     On  one  occasion,  a  week 
before  his  death,   Katerina  Nikolaevna  suggested  inviting  me 
to  entertain  him,  but  he  actually  frowned  :    I  simply  state  this 
fact  without  trying  to  explain  it.     His  estate  turned  out  to  be 
in  good  order  at  his  death,  and  he  left  a  very  cotisidcral)le  fortune 
as  well.     A  third  of  this  fortune  was  by  his  will  divided  between 
his    innumerable    goddaughters  ;     but    it  struck   every  one    as 
strange,  that  there  was  ш)  mention  of  Anna  Andreycvna  in  his 
will  at  all ;  her  name  was  omitted.     But  I  know  for  a  fact  that  a 
few  days  before  his  death,  the  old  man  summoned  his  daughter 
and  his  friends,  Pelistchev  and  Prince  V.,  and  instructed  Katerina 
NikolaevTia,  in  view  of  the  possibility  of  his  speedy  decease,  to 
set  aside  out  of  his  fortune  sixty  thousand  roubles  for  Anna 
Andreyevna.     He    expressed    his    wishes    briefly,    clearly    and 
preci.sely,  iiot  indulging  in  a  single  exclamation  or  explanation. 
After  his    death,   and    when    his    affairs    м'сге    put    in    order, 
Katerina    Nikolaevma,    through    her    lawyer,    informed    Anna 
Andreyevna  that  the  sixty  thousand  roubles  were  at  her  dis- 
posal ;   but  drily,  with  no  unnecessary  words,  Anna  Andreyevna 
declined  the  money  ;    she  refused  to  accept  it  in  spite  of  every 
assurance    that   this    had    been   the    old    prince's    desire.     The 
money  still  lies  waitiing  for  her,  and  Katerina  Nikolaevna  still 
hopes  to  induce  her  to  change  her  mind  ;    but  this  will  never 
happen,  of  that  I  am  positive,  for  I  am  now  one  of  Anna  Andre- 
yevna's  closest  and  most  intimate  friends.     Her  refusal  made 
rather  a  stir,  and  people  talked  about  it.     Her  aunt,  Madame 
Fa'iariotov,   who  had  been  anoyed  at  first  by  her  scandalous 
affair  with  the  old  prince,  suddenly  took  a  different  view  of  it, 
and,  after  she  refused  the  money,  made  her  a  .solemn  a.ssurance 
of  her  respect.     Her  brother,  on  the  other  hand,  quarrelled  with 

553 


her  finally  on  account  of  it.  But  though  I  often  go  to  see  Anna 
Andreyevna,  I  cannot  say  that  we  ever  discuss  an3rthing  very 
intimate  ;  we  never  refer  to  the  past ;  she  is  very  glad  to  see 
me,  but  talks  to  me  chiefly  of  abstract  subjects.  Among  other 
things,  she  has  told  me  that  she  is  firmly  resolved  to  go  into  a 
convent ;  that  was  not  long  ago  ;  but  I  don't  believe  this,  and 
look  upon  it  simply  as  an  expression  of  bitterness. 

But  what  is  really  tragic  is  what  I  have  to  tell  of  my  sister 
Liza's  fate.  That  is  real  unhappiness.  What  are  all  my  failures 
beside  her  bitter  lot  ?  It  began  with  Prince  Sergay  Petrovitch's 
dying  in  the  hospital  before  his  trial.  He  died  before  Prince 
Nikolay  Ivanovitch,  Liza  was  left  to  face  the  world  with  her 
unborn  child.  She  did  not  shed  tears  and  was  outwardly  calm, 
she  became  gentle  and  resigned  ;  but  all  her  old  fire  seemed  to 
have  vanished  for  ever.  She  helped  mother  meekly,  nursed 
Andrey  Petrovitch  through  his  illness,  but  became  very  silent  and 
never  seemed  to  notice  anyone  or  anything,  as  though  nothing 
mattered  to  her,  as  though  she  were  simply  passing  by.  When 
Versilov  was  better,  she  began  to  sleep  a  great  deal.  I  used  to 
take  her  books,  but  she  did  not  read  ;  she  became  terribly  thin. 
I  did  not  dare  to  try  to  comfort  her,  though  I  often  went  in  to 
her  intending  to  ;  but  in  her  presence  I  could  not  approach  her, 
and  I  found  no  words  to  speak  to  her.  It  went  on  like  this 
till  something  terrible  happened  :  she  fell  down  our  stairs ; 
she  did  not  fall  far,  only  three  steps,  but  it  brought  on  a  mis- 
carriage, and  she  was  ill  all  the  rest  of  the  winter.  Now  she  is 
on  her  feet  again,  but  her  health  has  been  shaken  and  it  will  be  a 
long  time  before  she  is  strong.  She  is  still  dreamy  and  silent 
with  us,  but  she  has  begun  to  talk  with  mother  a  little.  These 
last  few  days  we  have  had  bright,  clear  spring  sunshine,  and  I 
am  all  the  while  inwardly  recalling  that  sunny  morning  last 
autumn,  when  she  and  I  walked  along  the  street,  both  fuJl  of 
joy  and  hope  and  love  for  one  another.  Alas,  what  has  happened 
since  then  ?  I  don't  complain,  for  me  a  new  life  has  begun,  but 
for  her  ?  Her  future  is  a  problem,  and  I  cannot  look  at  her  even 
now  without  pain. 

Three  weeks  ago  I  did  succeed,  however,  in  interesting  her 
with  news  of  Vassin.  He  was  released  at  last  and  is  now  at 
liberty.  That  judicious  person  gave,  so  I  am  told,  the  most 
precise  explanation  and  the  most  interesting  information  which 
completely  cleared  his  character  in  the  eyes  of  those  on  whom 
his  fate  depended.    Moreover  his  celebrated  manuscript  turned 

554 


out  to  be  no  more  than  a  translation  from  the  French,  upon 
which  he  had  intended  to  write  an  article  for  a  magazine.  He  is 
now  in  the  X.  province,  and  his  stepfather,  Stebelkov,  is  still  in 
prison  on  the  same  charge,  which  I  hear  grows  more  extensive 
and  complicated  as  it  goes  on.  Liza  heard  the  news  of  Vassin 
with  a  strange  smile,  and  even  observed  that  that  was  just  what 
was  sure  to  have  happened  to  him.  But  she  was  evidently 
pleased,  no  doubt  that  Prince  Sergay's  action  had  not  brought 
worse  harm  to  Vassin.  Of  Dergatchev  and  his  friends  I  have 
nothing  to  say  here. 

I  have  finished.  Perhaps  some  reader  may  care  to  know  : 
what  has  become  of  my  "  idea,"  and  what  is  the  new  life  that  is 
beginning  for  me  now,  to  which  I  refer  so  mysteriously  ?  But 
that  new  life,  that  new  way  which  is  opening  before  me  is  my 
"  idea,"  the  same  as  before,  though  in  such  a  dififerent  form,  that 
it  could  hardly  be  recognised.  But  I  cannot  enter  into  that  in 
this  story,  that  is  something  quite  different.  My  old 'life  has 
passed  away  completely,  and  the  new  is  just  beginning.  But  I 
will  add  one  essential  matter  :  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  a  true  and 
dear  friend  to  me,  pesters  me  almost  every  day  with  exhorta- 
tions to  enter  the  university :  "  When  you've  taken  your 
degree,"  she  says,  "  then  you  can  consider  the  position,  but  now 
you  must  finish  уошг  studies."  I  must  confess  I  am  considering 
her  suggestion,  but  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  decide.  Among 
other  objections  I  have  urged  that  I  have  not  the  right  to  con- 
tinue my  studies,  as  it  is  my  duty  now  to  work  to  maintain  mother 
and  Liza  ;  but  she  offers  to  undertake  this,  and  she  says  her  means 
are  sufficient  to  do  so  all  the  time  I  am  at  the  university.  I  have 
determined  at  last  to  ask  the  advice  of  some  one.  Looking  about 
me,  I  have  chosen  that  some  one  carefully  and  critically.  I  have 
fixed  on  Nikolay  Semyonovitch,  my  former  tutor  in  Moscow,  the 
husband  of  Marie  Ivanovna.  Not  so  much  that  I  need  advice 
about  anything,  but  I  feel  an  irresistible  longing  to  hear  the 
opinion  of  this  outsider,  who  is  a  rather  coldly  egoistic,  but 
undoubtedly  clever  man.  I  have  sent  him  my  whole  manu- 
script, asking  him  to  keep  it  secret  from  every  one,  especially 
Tatyana  Pavlovna,  because  I  have  not  shown  it  to  any  one  so 
far.  The  manuscript  came  back  to  me  a  fortnight  later,  and  with 
it  a  rather  long  letter.  From  this  letter  I  make  a  few  extracts, 
as  I  find  in  them  a  certain  general  view  and  something  that  may 
be  explanatory.    Here  are  the  extracts. 

555 


"  ,  .  ,  You  could  never  have  employed  your  leisure  time  more 
profitably,  my  ever  precious  Arkady  Makarovitch,  than  in 
writing  this  autobiography  !  You  have  given  yourself,  so  to  say, 
an  imtlinching  account  of  your  first  stormy,  perilous  steps  on 
the  path  of  life.  I  quite  believe  that  you  may  by  this  exposition 
have  to  a  great  extent  '  re-educated  yourself,'  to  use  your  own 
expression.  I  shall  not,  of  course,  venture  upon  the  smallest 
criticism  :  though  every  page  makes  one  reflect  .  .  .  for  instance, 
the  circumstance,  that  you  so  long  and  so  obstinately  retained 
possession  of  the  '  document ' — is  highly  characteristic.  .  .  . 
But  that  is  only  one  remark  out  of  hundreds,  which  I  permitted 
myself.  I  greatly  appreciate  also,  the  fact  of  your  deciding  to 
confide  to  me,  and  apparently  to  me  alone,  '  the  secret  of  your 
idea,'  to  use  уошг  own  expression.  But  your  request  that  I 
should  give  you  my  opinion  on  that  '  idea  '  I  must  res  ilutely 
refuse  :  to  begin  with,  it  would  be  out  of  place  in  a  letter,  and 
secondly,  I  am  not  prepared  to  give  an  answer  off-hand  ;  I  must 
ruminate  upon  it  further.  I  will  only  observe  that  your  '  idea  ' 
is  distinguished  by  originality,  whereas  young  men  of  the  present 
generation,  for  the  most  part,  throw  themselves  into  ready-made 
ideas,  of  which  there  is  always  an  ample  provision,  and  which  are 
a  source  of  danger.  Your  idea,  for  instance,  did  at  any  rate  save 
you  for  the  time  from  the  ideas  of  Messrs.  Dergatchev  and  Co., 
certainly  less  origmal  than  yours.  Finally  I  am  absolutely  in 
agreement  with  that  honoured  lady,  Tatyana  Pavlovna,  whom  I 
had  till  now  failed  to  esteem  as  she  deserves,  though  I  know  her 
personally.  Her  plan  that  you  should  enter  the  university  will 
be  of  the  greatest  possible  benefit  for  you.  Study  and  hfe  will 
imdoubtcdly  in  three  or  four  years  widen  the  horizon  of  your 
ideas  and  aspirations,  and  if  after  the  university  you  still  desire 
to  return  to  yoiu-  '  idea,'  there  will  be  nothing  to  prevent  it. 

"  Now  allow  me,  though  you  have  not  requested  it,  to  give 
you  frankly  some  thoughts  and  impressions  that  have  occurred  to 
my  mind  while  perusing  yoiu:  extremely  candid  '  autobiography.' 
Yes,  I  agree  with  Audrey  Petrovitch,  that  one  might  well  feel 
anxiety  about  you  and  your  solitary  youth.  And  there  are  more 
than  a  few  lads  like  you,  and  there  really  is  always  a  danger  of 
their  talents  leading  them  astray,  either  into  secret  sensuality,  or 

556 


a  latent  desire  for  lawlessness.  But  this  thirst  for  lawlessness 
proceeds  most  frequently,  perhaps,  from  a  latent  craving  for 
discipline  and  '  seemliness  ' — (I  am  using  your  own  words). 
Youth  is  pure,  just  because  it  is  youth.  Perhaps  in  these  pre- 
cocious impulses  of  madness,  there  lie  concealed  a  craving  for 
discipline  and  a  search  for  truth,  and  whose  fault  is  it  that  some 
young  people  of  to-day  see  that  truth  and  that  discipline  in  such 
stupid  and  ridiculous  things,  that  one  cannot  imagine  how  they 
can  believe  in  them  !  I  may  mention,  b}'  the  way,  that  in  the 
recent  past,  a  generation  ago  at  most,  such  interesting  lads  were 
not  so  much  to  be  pitied,  for  in  those  days  they  almost  always 
ended  by  successfully  attaching  themselves  to  our  most  highly 
cultivated  class  and  merging  into  it  and  even  if  they  did  at  the 
onset  recognise  their  own  lack  of  order  and  consistency,  the  lack 
of  nobility  even  in  their  family  surroundings,  the  lack  of  an 
ancestral  tradition,  and  of  fine  finished  forms  of  social  life,  it 
was  a  gain  for  them,  for  they  consciously  strove  towards  all  this 
and  thereby  learned  to  prize  it.  Nowadays  the  position  is 
somewhat  different,  for  there  is  scarcely  anything  the  ycwmg  can 
attach  themselves  to. 

"  I  will  explain  by  comparison,  or,  so  to  say,  by  analogy.  If  I 
had  been  a  Russian  novelist  and  had  talent  I  should  certainly 
have  chosen  my  heroes  from  the  old  nobility,  because  only  in 
that  type  of  cultivated  Russian  is  it  possible  to  find  at  least 
that  outward  semblance  of  fine  order  and  aesthetic  beauty  so 
necessary  in  a  novel  to  produce  an  artistic  effect  on  the  reader. 
I  am  not  joking  when  I  say  this,  although  lam  not  a  nobleman 
myself,  as  you  are  indeed  aware.  Pushkin  selected  the  subject  for 
his  future  novels  from  the  'Traditions  of  the  Russian  Family,' 
and  believe  me  that  everything  beautiful  we  have  had  so  far  is 
to  be  found  therein.  Everything  that  has  been  brought  to  some 
sort  of  perfection,  anyway.  I  don't  say  this  because  I  am 
accepting  unconditionally  the  truth  and  justness  of  that  beauty  ; 
but  at  least  there  were  completely  worked  out  forms  of  honour 
and  duty  which  have  never  existed  anj^v'here  in  Russia  except 
in  the  nobility,  even  in  the  most  rudimentary  shape.  1  speak  as 
a  calm  man  seeking  calm. 

"  Whether  that  honour  was  a  good  thing,  and  whether  that 
duty  was  a  true  one — is  a  secondary  question.  What  to  my  mind 
is  of  most  consequence  is  the  finality  of  the  forms  and  the 
existence  of  some  sort  of  order,  not  prescribed  from  above,  but 
developed  from  within.     Good  heavens,  what  matters  most  of  all 

557 


for  us  ie  to  have  any  sort  of  order  of  our  own  !  All  hopes  for  the 
future  and,  so  to  say,  restfulness  of  outlook  lie  in  our  having 
something  at  last  built  up,  instead  of  this  everlasting  destruction, 
instead  of  chips  flying  in  all  directions,  rubbish  and  disorder 
which  has  led  to  nothing  for  two  hundred  years. 

"  Don't  accuse  me  of  Slavophilism  ;  I  only  say  this  from 
misanthropy,  for  my  heart  is  heavy  !  Something  is  happening 
to  us  to-day  and  in  the  recent  past,  the  very  opposite  of  what  I 
have  imagined  above.  It  is  not  that  the  worthless  attach  them- 
selves to  the  highest  stratum  of  society,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
with  light-hearted  haste,  fragments  are  torn  from  what  is  fine 
and  noble  and  thrown  into  one  mass  with  the  lawless  and  the 
envious.  And  there  have  been  many  instances  of  fathers  and 
heads  of  what  have  been  cultured  families,  laughing  at  what  their 
children  perhaps  would  have  liked  to  beUeve  in.  What  is  more, 
they  eagerly  display  to  their  children  their  spiteful  pleasure  at 
the  sudden  licence  to  be  dishonest,  which  they  have  all  at  once 
deduced,  wholesale,  from  something,  I  am  not  speaking  of  the 
true  progressives,  dear  Arkady  Makarovitch,  but  only  of  that 
rabble,  so  numerous  it  seems,  of  whom  it  has  been  said  '  grattez 
le  Russe  et  vous  verrez  le  Tatare,'  and  believe  me  there  are  by 
no  means  so  many  true  liberals,  true  and  noble  friends  of 
humanity  among  us,  as  we  have  imagined. 

"  But  all  this  is  theorising ;  let  us  come  back  to  our  sup- 
posed noveUst.  The  position  of  our  novelist  in  this  case  would 
be  perfectly  definite  ;  he  could  not  write  in  any  other  form  but 
the  historical,  for  there  is  no  fine  type  in  our  day,  and  if  there 
were  remnants  of  it  left  the}'  would  not,  according  to  the  pre- 
valent ideas  of  the  day,  have  retained  their  beauty.  Oh  !  and 
in  historical  form  it  is  possible  to  depict  a  multitude  of  extremely 
attractive  and  consolatory  details  !  It  is  possible  so  to  fascinate 
the  reader  indeed  that  he  will  take  the  historical  picture  for 
the  possible  and  the  actual.  Such  a  work,  if  executed  with 
great  talent,  would  belong  not  so  much  to  Russian  literature  as  to 
Russian  history. 

"  It  would  be  a  picture  artistically  worked  out  of  the  Russian 
ideal,  having  a  real  existence  so  long  as  it  was  not  guessed  that  it 
was  an  ideal.  The  grandson  of  those  heroes  who  have  been  de- 
picted in  a  picture  of  a  Russian  family  of  the  upper  middle  culti- 
vated class  dvuring  three  generations,  side  by  side  with  and  in 
connection  with  Russian  history — that  descendant  of  his  fore- 
fathers would  not  be  depicted  in  his  modem  type  except  in  a 

558 


somewhat  misanthropic  solitary  and  distinct!}'  melancholy 
aspect.  He  is  even  bound  to  appear  a  somewhat  strange  tigure, 
so  that  the  reader  might  from  the  first  glance  recognise  him  as  one 
retreating  from  the  field  of  action,  and  might  be  convinced  there 
was  no  field  of  action  left  for  him.  A  little  further  and  even  that 
misanthrope,  that  grandson  of  heroes,  will  disappear  entirely  ; 
new  characters  will  appear,  unknown  to  us  as  yet,  and  a  new 
ideal ;  but  what  sort  of  characters  ?  If  they  are  without 
beauty,  then  the  Russian  novel  is  impossible  in  the  future.  But 
alas  !   will  the  novel  be  the  only  thing  impossible  ? 

"  I  will  not  pursue  this  further,  but  will  hasten  back  to  your 
manuscript.  Consider,  for  instance,  both  the  families  of  M. 
Versilov  (for  this  once  I  will  ventuxe  to  be  quite  open).  I  won't 
enlarge  on  Andrey  Petrovitch  him.self  ;  but  he  is  anyway  of  a 
good  old  family.  He  is  a  nobleman  of  ancient  lineage,  and  at 
the  same  time  a  Parisian  communard.  He  is  a  true  poet  and 
loves  Russia,  yet  denies  her  absolutely.  He  is  without  any  sort 
of  religion,  but  yet  almost  ready  to  die  for  something  indefinite, 
to  which  he  cannot  give  a  name,  but  in  which  he  fervently  believes, 
like  a  number  of  Russian  adherents  of  European  civilisation  of 
the  Petersburg  period  of  Russian  history.  But  enough  of  him. 
As  for  his  legitimate  family,  I  won't  discuss  his  son,  and  indeed, 
he  is  not  worthy  of  the  honour.  All  who  have  eyes  know  what 
upstarts  like  that  come  to  in  Russia,  and  what  they  bring  others 
to  as  well.  Then  his  daughter,  x\nna  Andreycvna — she  is  surely 
a  girl  of  strong  character  ?  A  figure  on  the  scale  of  the  Mother 
Abbess  Mitrofania,  not  that  I  mean  to  predict  anything  criminal 
— which  would  be  unjust  on  my  part. 

"  If  you  can  assure  me,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  that  that  family 
is  an  exceptional  phenomenon  it  will  rejoice  my  heart.  But 
would  it  not  be  on  the  contrary  a  truer  conclusion,  that  a  multi- 
tude of  unquestionably  aristocratic  Russian  families  are  with 
irresistible  force  passing  in  masses  into  exceptional  families  and 
mingling  with  them  in  the  general  lawlessness  and  chaos.  A 
typical  example  of  such  an  exceptional  family  is  sketched  by  you 
in  your  manuscript.  Yes,  Arkady  Makarovitch,  you  are  a 
member  of  an  exceptional  familij,  in  contrary  distinction  to  the 
aristocratic  types  who  have  had  such  a  very  different  childhood 
and  adolescence  from  yours. 

'"  I  must  say  I  should  not  like  to  be  a  novelist  whose  hero  comes 
of  an  exceptional  famil}' ! 

"  To  describe  him  is  an  ungrateful  task  and  can  have  no 

559 


beauty  of  form.  Moreover  these  types  are  in  any  case  transitory-, 
and  so  a  novel  about  them  cannot  have  artistic  finish.  One  may 
make  serious  mistakes,  exaggerations,  misjudgments.  In  any 
case,  one  would  have  to  guess  too  much.  But  what  is  the  writer 
to  do  who  doesn't  want  to  confine  himself  to  the  historical  form, 
and  is  possessed  by  a  longing  for  the  present  ?  To  guess  .  ,  . 
and  make  mistakes. 

"  But  such  an  autobiography  as  yoiu-s  might  serve  as  material 
for  a  future  work  of  art,  for  a  future  picture  of  a  lawless  epoch 
already  passed.  Oh,  when  the  angry  strife  of  the  day  has  passed, 
and  the  future  has  come,  then  a  future  artist  will  discover 
beautiful  forms  for  depicting  past  lawlessness  and  chaos.  Then 
such  autobiographies  as  j'ours — so  long  as  they  are  sincere — will 
be  of  use  and  provide  material  in  spite  of  their  chaotic  and  for- 
tuitous character  .  .  .  they  will  preserve  at  any  rate  some  faith- 
ful traits  by  which  one  may  guess  what  may  have  lain  hidden 
in  the  heart  of  some  raw  youth  of  that  troubled  time — a  know- 
ledge not  altogether  valueless  since  from  raw  youths  are  made  up 
the  generations." 


560 


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Ъ  lP- 


Pi 

to 

URL 


LD  liRl 


Form  L9- 


1  9  S№ 


4WKAUG2  419C5 


REC'D  C.L. 
APR  14 1998 


APR  1  " 


AUG  23 '95 


Rli 


•a/ 
AS   • 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001036  421    4 


^ 


